


The Rose and The Nightingale

by Punk_in_Docs



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 76,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1287451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_in_Docs/pseuds/Punk_in_Docs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet, opportunely, at a party in London, in the bitter winter of 1918. Whilst Britain comes to terms with it's hangover of debt and the ramifications of a world war. </p><p>Elizabeth Jones knows she cannot, and will not forget this boy. As time passes, he, of course, turns into a man, and she -  against her better wishes - turns into an elegant, eligible young lady. </p><p>One hot, dry, summer, in the height of the roaring twenties in rural Oxfordshire, 1926, they meet again. And this time, there is no mistaking what the both of them desire… trouble is, all the obstacles that they’ll have to go through to finally procure their shared happiness…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Aqquantainces...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Give us our Fiery, and Outspoken Debutante, who is anything but a Wallflower, and most definitely our Heroine. And let her meet The Shy, Inquisitive and Handsome Hero of our Story...

They had met, on a heavy and disappointing night, at a debutante party in a crowded London Townhouse in the chilling winter of 1918.

Britain was not all that far from just having won a world war with Germany, and subsequently everyone delighted in their social calendars livening up again, like a busy forest after its inhabitants had hibernated all winter. Out came the silken dresses that had been stowed away in musty trunks during the conflict, once again parties and drinks and dressing up became the norm, and the new age of technology gripped every household that dared to embrace it.

Packed to the rafters was the state of the elegant Knightsbridge home of the Kingsley’s. One of London’s leading families of social elite. The reason being for the ball, was that The Kingsley’s daughter, a one Kitty Kingsley, was blossoming into womanhood at the ripe peachy and unsullied age of sixteen, the age in a girl’s life when frivolous parties, and extravagant dresses would start to become a necessity in their life, overtaking the rare presence of responsibility and smart conversation, that was permanently lacking to any young girl nowadays. The expectations for a girl of this naive age were to be seen and not heard.

Perhaps that was why Miss Elizabeth Jones rarely dared to dip her toe into the ‘cesspool’ – as she so often called it, much to her mother’s displeasure – of debutante dowager mama’s and stiff upper lipped father’s aswell as their nauseatingly dim children, who were trying in vain to be sensible, alas she certainly had no desire to blend in with the wallpaper, she was making a point of being heard and seen.

The first over spoken incident of the evening that resulted as a consequence of her desire to be no demure wall -flowered miss, came when she was introduced to one Mr and Mrs Grey, and their 17 year old son, Jeremy Grey. She had done every polite etiquette correctly. Smiling and averting her eyes to the floor for the risk of being a flirt, commenting reservedly on the number of guests, and the delightful décor of the Kingsley’s home. And as the conversation had dried up thereafter, Mr Grey, and Elizabeth’s father, were engaging in a long winded political debate whilst everyone else smiled and remained in mute, but socially polite, silence.

Elizabeth took the time to scuff the sole of her shoe quietly onto the Victorian black and white tiled floor. Wishing she could be where she wanted at home with her sketchbook, and anywhere on god’s green earth than in this ballroom, with its suffocating atmosphere, in a dress she had yet to grow into and shoes that had been stuffed with tissue paper to help her fit them better. Instead she had to ‘guard her tongue’ as per her mother’s suggestion as she listened to the two men discuss the treaty of Versailles in regards to the treaty of Brest – Litovsk. She bit the inside of her cheek as she struggled not to be heard.

“I fail to see why we’re not demanding more from Germany. All the reparations we have to make to our economy and our businesses, we should bleed their economy dry for what they’ve done to us!” spouted Mr Grey, angrily raising his voice to a passionate degree.

“Because clearly over 20 billion gold marks isn’t enough.” She murmered quietly.

“Libby!” Her mother scalded quickly, an embarrassed blush decorating her cheeks as she berated her daughter using her preferred name to usher her into silence and decorum.

Mr Grey looked at the young girl in a strange manner, gaping at her in wonderment, as were Mrs Grey and Jeremy.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Jones?” Mr Grey stammered, taken aback that the young girl was corralling him over matters of politics.

“Over $5 million has been demanded from Germany to pay reparations, in gold, commodities, ships and other forms. Surely that will go towards the majority of Occupation costs to the Allies in Europe. And as for the reparations to be made to England, surely France, who has been half obliterated by this war must take some precedence and priority in restoring its lands and economy.” Libby argued, seeing Mr Greys face grow more and more shocked by her words. And her out of place attitude that made her sound like she was defending Germany.

Mr Grey narrowed his eyes at the young girl. Mrs Grey and her son looked horrified. Libby’s mother looked about ready to faint from mortification. And her own father actually looked to be quite proud and pleased with her.

“Are you saying you’re sympathising with Germany?” he asked dangerously.

“Not at all Mr Grey. I’m simply stating my opinion that a payment of over 20 billion in gold marks from a war torn state would be not only incredible, but also inconceivable in the face of a country that is facing an annex of its military and just about every other commodity it possesses, down to the raw iron in the ground, and the coal in its mines. Not to mention that the harsh demand can only be adding insult to injury to Germanys History and sooner or later someone is bound to rally the countries broken spirits, and kick up a fuss only made greater by the fact they are a rising industrial leader of this century and are successively being, as you put it… ‘Bled dry’ “

She finished, seeing Mr Greys hand grow slack on his glass, threatening to spill it over the floor and all over his shoes.

Suddenly in a wave of self-consciousness and the sheer unassuming ability of knowing she had just been incredibly rude and condescending, and not to mention severely outspoken. A temperament her mother told her was ugly, frank and impossibly brutish. And not only did she look like she sympathised with an enemy country, she also looked like a loud mouthed know it all. And suddenly, she felt utterly foolish, and very much wished she had just made a lame comment about the weather, and blended nicely in with the baroque wallpaper.

“Excuse me. I think I need to go and fetch myself a drink.” She spoke with the quiet and shy demeanour of a tame dormouse.

She slipped away, through crowds of black satin and formal evening dress with guffawing laughter erupting all around her in the room. She felt defeated, humiliated and just a tiny bit angry. Feeling shamed for having an opinion, was as illogical to her as being ashamed for having arms and legs and a pair of eyes.

Her escapade from the dreadful conversation, however, did not go unnoticed. Perhaps it was the bright colour of her midnight blue velvet dress as she streaked through the crowd that caught his attention amongst the sea of black dresses and suits, (black was deemed a safe and quickly popular, modern, colour now, rather than an indication of old fashioned Victorian mourning) Perhaps maybe it was the way he had been stood within earshot of her when she had spouted all her intelligent and upstanding argument about reparations from Germany. And perhaps it was the way he had to try and hide his smile on hearing her passionately degrade a senior in her years with just a few lashes of her educated and eloquently remarkable tongue. But whatever sight or sound it was, that made Libby Jones capture the attention of Benedict Cumberbatch, he knew he liked and thoroughly enjoyed it.

She was tall for her age. And slender too, with that delicate and pale British skin that every prim young miss ought have. Her hair was a short and wild curly array of off red brown hues, impossible to decide between the shocking sight of red or brunette. (Given her vibrant and resilient nature, he rather favoured to lean towards red as a common denominator for her hair colouring) Her dress hung off her in an ill-fitting manner, and her noted with nothing but primal curiosity in a way that only a 17 year old male could, was that while she was slender and willow like in height, he could go some way as to say that her bust was of an agreeable size, (a size not deemed fashionable in today’s society) and her hips and rear filled out the back of her dress rather well, aswell as showing a Dias cut out on her back where the material fell away, he quite thought he liked the sight of her bare back and the splay of her refined neck. As she turned to weave her way past Mr Ramsgate, he saw that as she turned so lightly in his direction, the soft details of her face was just as pleasurable for him, as the rest of her. Her lips were plump and looked as if they offered and promised soft warmness, in her kiss and in her smile. her nose was, petite and button like, arched softly at just the right size, between two almond shaped dazzling blue eyes (that were also deemed rare and unfashionable, like the fiery flame shade of her hair) that looked big and sensuous when bordered by a fan of impossibly long eyelashes that spilled onto her slightly reddened cheeks as she looked down, steering her feet under her too long dress. She looked up again, walking towards the door, and he could see that her eyebrows were softly bowed on her forehead, arched like angels wings. Altogether, from the look of her, and from the sight of her, the more he saw, the more he was intrigued to know.

The final ‘Perhaps’ that raced through Benedict’s mind when he was looking at this elegant, beautiful and vibrant girl, was the Perhaps that maybe she was different to the other blushing empty headed debutante girls who he had been dragged here, and forced by his parents, to meet and eventually wed. This girl was highly unfashionable judging by her looks (short red hair and blue eyes, not long brown/blonde hair and brown eyes that were favoured exotic and currently ‘all the rage’) and by her manner (berating a middle aged man over his crass opinion in politics and foreign affairs) and this. This is what made him want to go and introduce himself to her.

He excused himself politely from talking to Felicity Warrington, who had just commented on the lavish décor of the Kingsley’s home. (He rather inclined to favour that the word ‘lavish’ was the only eloquent word in her vocabulary) and walked quietly and fairly quickly through the house to try and find the red headed pariah who had distanced herself from the party.

Eventually, he came to a quiet, unlit corridor near the front of the house close to the cloakroom. And there she sat on the windowsill that overlooked the moonlit bathed front garden that faced the quieting street.

She had tugged off her shoes and left them in disarray on the floor, and her legs were pulled up and crossed in front of her, her bare feet rested on the deep window ledge. And her forehead was touching her knees, making her vivaciously coloured curls spill over her knees, and shroud her face from view. Her hair this way, however, revealed her ears and the small sapphire earbobs that were pinned into them. Her arms were linked around her legs, resting just below her kneecaps, and her saw that the moonlight that was streaming in from the window, was touching her skin so freely, and illuminating it in a manner akin to goddesses in pre Raphaelite paintings, that he suddenly envied the slice of light to be able to caress her skin at liberty without question or permission.

He suddenly felt he had to say something and stop invading her privacy in a strictly unforgivably rude manner.

“Pardon me, but. Are you, all right?”

She startled at the timbre of his soft baritone voice breeching her silence and solitude. Her head whipping up to bestow upon her intruder a surprised gaze, with her full lips parting and her blue eyes blinking in adjustment to the tall boy stood near the shadows of the doorway, peering at her worriedly.

She was struck by how old-worldly he looked. His face was thin and long, but not unpleasantly so. In fact, she thought to herself quietly with apposition, handsomely so. His was an unforgettably striking face, which she could tell, in an – unbeknownst famously to her - sense of prediction, that was destined to grow even more strikingly handsome as he got older. He had dark hair resting between black or brown, she couldn’t tell in the unforgiving shadow of the doorway where he stood. But he had softly placed feline shaped eyes that were awash in Mediterranean blue irises, residing under fairly curved eyebrows. (She had never seen the Mediterranean Sea, only had she read about it in books, likening its soft, salty blue depths to the colour and warmth of his eyes. She has also learnt from books that this particular ocean was the temperature of a boiling hot bath after it had been left half an hour, resulting in a lazy warmth that instantly recalled her to think of this strangers eyes) his nose was, as far as noses go, button like and well suited to his face, she wasn’t sure if ‘button nose’ really constituted itself as a compliment, but, on having had to talk to Lawrence Finch for some portion of the evening, a boy whose nose had yet to grow into his face, and probably proceeded his body several seconds before he physically entered the room, again, when comparing that unfortunate trait to this boys nose, she decided that ‘button like’ was indeed a soft and graceful compliment. But the thing that drew her attention most was the fact that the shadows carved away his face in stark contrast, so that sharp cheekbones dominated his well-structured jaw. Nearly going all the way to say the darkness that cut away his features framed the cut out of the hillside shape of his cupids bow lips that were both feminine and masculine all in one.

She decided that it would be polite to speak as she had spent far too many seconds evaluating his appearance in her head. Seeing his brows twitch upwards in an awaiting gesture, as he pulled out of the shadows of the doorway, so she could see he was lean, tall and well built.

“I, must learn to watch my tongue better. I fear my, outbursts and prejudiced comments land me in veritable swamps of trouble more often than not.”

She commented, her toes curling on the window ledge in embarrassment. As he came to rest in front of the wall opposite her, hands in his pockets as he inspected his shoes in a shy burst of insecurity. She saw how the moon that was beaming in from behind her was plastering his figure to the wall, bathing him in godly illusion. He liked that her voice was adamant, pleasant sounding and resolute. Like the soft song of a nightingale.

“Well. Without meaning to appear in favour with popular opinion, I think you should in actual fact guard your tongue less, only. It’s far more amusing that way.”

She raised her brows in disbelief.

“Are you arguing with me?”  
He smiled shyly.

“I wouldn’t dare to, or dream of, saying yes. Wanting not to sound like a pansy here, I think we can safely agree it is an argument you’d win.” He smiled, his smirk shining through twinkling moonlit eyes.

And they examined each other for a moment, watching how the moonlight could simply strip away all their inhibitions, and leave them bare and unguarded to one another in an age that was so wantonly cloaked and kept under strict lock and key. He liked how he was stood directly opposite her now, and the light was framing every inch of her from this newfound angle, making her hair look like red strands of silk, and warranting her skin to look ethereal and enchanting, along with the brutality and vibrancy of her eyes and the shade of her dress, that blended beautifully with the night washed sky behind her out of that window. She could write sonnets about the magical way in which the light transformed him into a man rather than a boy.

She laughed lightly at his comment, before remembering what age of etiquette she lived in.

“Elizabeth Jones. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She stood, and offered her hand.

“Benedict Cumberbatch. It is a pleasure, Elizabeth.” He spoke easily taking her hand and smiling all the more. He then gestured to the spacious room by her side on the window seat.

“I beg your pardon, and the sordid intrusion of your solitude, but, may I join you?” he asked, placing a hand to imitate where he wished to sit.

She smiled. “But of course, but, on one upstanding and not to be contended point, benedict…” she started.

“That point being?” he enquired before he sat. Still stood adjacent to her, and thoroughly enjoying the sight of her.

“You call me Libby. Elizabeth is the name I get called by my parent’s when I forget to bite my tongue.”

He smiled widely.

“But of course, and, can I press a request of my own, Libby?”

“I am so agreeable as to let you offer an appeal of your own, so yes?”

“Please call me Ben. Benedict does rather make me sound like a breakfast dish.”

They both laughed in time with each other, and that was the start of their easy friendship…


	2. Unexpectedly...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it was, that our Hero and Heroine met again, over a decade thereafter their meeting, on a scorching summer’s day in mid-July in the Oxfordshire countryside, 1926. Within the first flushes of the pleasant English summer, (and during the first awkward flushes of attraction…)

Libby was just bounding leisurely back to the house across the lawn from having taken a walk through the small green woods on the edge of their property to while away the time. Though the woman had adored every second of London she had spent there, she rather preferred that she could up and walk about and take in scenery rather than sitting and watching the clock tick. She had finished her University degree at Imperial College in London nearly two years ago now. She had studied Literature, and the arts. Was an avid photographer and painter. Her mother didn’t understand why she didn’t pursue the sciences or mathematics, she was very bright and terribly good at them. But, in true manner, Libby had genteelly put her foot down and insisted upon her life’s ambition of the written word and the painted arts. While her mother had flapped about in hysterics, and warned her it would get her barely anywhere in life, she had clamoured Libby’s father to get her to change her mind, to which the elder man simply smiled and waved her off into what she loved doing, regardless of her mother’s utter abhorrence of the notion. 

And so it was, That Libby Jones had a degree under her belt, appreciated books and sculptures, and paintings and drawings, and always kept a sly ear open to the changing politics of the day much to her father’s proudness, had subsequently moved back to her Parent’s permanent summer home in Oxford, and spent her days leisurely pouring through books and sketching until the right job came along. And if the right job didn’t come along, then her mother made certain the right husband did. 

Libby was an impressive looking beauty now. Gone was her once dainty status as a debutante, and out of the shrinking violet grew the effervescent rose. She grew tall and slender, but still with the right amount of shape where it counted most on her body, resting on her hips and thighs and making her bust more pronounced than the fashionable stick figure that every woman wanted to have now in the roaring swing of the 20’s. Her beauty, much to her mother’s favour when soliciting a potential suitor was a favourable asset.

“Oh, My Elizabeth…” she would fawn. “Oh her eyes are as blue as sapphires, and her lips are as full and soft as the first bud of roses in May. She is of a fair complexion, after my side of the family, of course! A very fine figure, But, unfortunately she was gifted with a wicked tongue that she takes great delight in lashing at people with nonsensical notions! But I am sure, when she meets a kind gentleman she would shut her mouth and behave prettily… It need only take the right and brave man to tame my daughter, you know…” Mrs Jones would scoff at Dinner parties to young entrepreneurial Men, who would brave taking on the backboned beautiful woman she described to them, if they were up for a challenge and didn’t know what was good for them.

Libby felt her mother didn’t quite stretch far enough the Braveness of the young man in question. In the last year alone she had turned down four offers of marriage. Two the year before that while she was still in University. Her mother had just about had enough of her, stating she would end up as an old spinster if she carried on at this rate. Stubbornly saying she would not stop until Libby was walking down the aisle to wed a rich suitor. To which the woman in question would roll her eyes and insist that life would mean she wouldn’t have to endure sitting around and talking about how rich she was, being poor and lonely was by far a more exciting way to live. At which point her mother would storm out of the room at her only daughters unreasonable ability, tearing her hair out over the fact that is she, Nor her Older Brother, Leo wouldn’t settle down, then she would have no grandchildren to contend with. And Libby’s father would undoubtedly – as the conversation would be conducted in his office as that was where all of these ‘serious’ discussions took place – would hand her a copy of the times, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her never to change her ways. 

As she walked back across the lawn, she could hear her mother’s avid flapping and fussing from her open parlour doors, the French shutters would open out onto the patio and across to the lawn, where Libby was just rounding the large concrete fountain. Running her fingertips across the most covered lip of it, Her other hand clutching at the wild flowers she had gathered. She rolled her eyes as her mother carried on wailing her name. The woman crossed the patio quickly, leaning inside to see her mother hurriedly beckoning her inside. 

“Libby! Libby! You need to go and make sure Eliza prepares the guest bedroom right away! Cressida is coming to stay for a week! Oh if only she’d have said sooner!”

Cressida was a close friend of the family’s. She was an odious and poisonous blonde bombshell who had had more husbands and affairs than Libby had hot dinners, and the gossip about town was that she had her eyes on Leonard Jones, (Libby’s own Older brother) to grab with her talons as her next husband or brief fling. 

“Cressida’s coming.” Libby’s face fell darkly with distain. 

“Oh don’t behave like a petty three year old please, I can’t stand the obnoxious trollop either! Just go and see to it that the room is prepared.” Her mother berated. 

Libby rolled her eyes one last time and considered spending the evening wishing to stick pins in her eyes rather than face Cressida Cowper, the pins alternative was certainly less painful. The awful woman had a revolting habit of cleverly insulting you so as you didn’t realise she was disguising the insult in a good natured comment. It didn’t help that she was vulgarly pretty, never was she seen without huge rouged lips and an extravagant dress that screamed impracticality. Cressida was a woman about town, hot on the gossip vines, cruel witted and repulsive kind of woman, with a figure like a stick and a smile that was a siren call to stupid men. Nothing alike the gently bred, outspoken demurely beautiful likes of Libby, whose figure wasn’t thin or all the rage, and whose dresses weren’t pictured in vogue or imported from New York. She preferred simplicity and elegance over extravagance and frippery.  
She walked out onto the patio again, and around to the side of the house through the walled gate to the kitchens on the other side of the house. She waved good morning to Simpy (Mrs Simpson, the Housekeeper), the ever reliable woman who kept the house running smother than a naval battleship. Past Ms Higgs, the plump old cook who was constantly trying to fatten Libby up and get more, as she put it ‘meat onto her skinny little bones’ and past Parker, the Butler who was enjoying his quiet hour off duty, reading the paper. 

“Good Morning Simpy, Morning Ms Higgs, Hello Parker, Is Eliza about?” 

Libby asked cheerfully, rooting around, under the old sink that was full of vegetable peelings, looking for a vase for the flowers in her hand. Had she entered the house via any other door she would have been hung drawn and quartered if her mother saw the state of her muddy court shoes on her pristine carpets…

“She’s gone to change Leon’s bed, she’s probably still up there.” 

Parker spoke in his gravelly posh voice from behind the large sheets of the telegraph that barricaded his face from view.

“Ok. I’ll go find her. Morning all.”

The girl sung over her shoulder smiling, finding the vase she wanted, and throwing her shoes into a corner before exiting the kitchen to walk back through the house barefoot to her room. Leaving her mud encrusted shoes behind.

She swept round out of the kitchen, up the stairs into formal dining room, through the formal lounge, down the corridor past the courtyard window into the front garden, across the foyer and up the stair past the library and her father’s study, where he could hear him engaged on the telephone behind his oak office door, she went up the stairs and along the landing, before making a sharp right at the end of the hallway and peering into her Brother’s large room to find the petite housemaid fussing with the corners on Leon’s sheets. 

“Oh, Eliza. Mum asks if you would make up the spare guest room on the second floor.” Libby asked her, peering her head around the door.

“It’s already made up Ma’am. Whoever for I don’t know.” She spoke searchingly. Eliza and Libby were firm friends despite the gaps in their social class. Eliza was a loud mouthed and cheeky cockney London girl who had to fight to be quiet at times, rather alike Libby herself, so naturally the pair were as thick as thieves. 

“Cressida Cowper’s Coming to stay…” Libby intoned in displeasure. 

Eliza huffed straightening herself. Tugging the sheet down in irritation.

“Oh not Her Ma’am, Last time she was here I nearly broke me hands cause she ordered all her clothes washed. Every day.”

“I pray for your hands to survive the week.”

Libby smiled, leaning out of the doorway and taking the vase full of flowers to her own room. She had practically an entire wing for her bedroom on the other side of the large house. She had a spacious bathroom, an informal lounge filled with books and long forgotten sketches that was always lazily doused in sunlight during the day, and brilliant in the moon at night. She had a spacious bedroom that had more than a couple of dresses strewn about the place, and more than one disorganised bottle on her vanity chest. Her wardrobe was stuffed full of gowns and dresses and coats that her father had sent to her from Vienna, Milan, Paris, New York, London and god knows where else, Every time he went away on a trip, it was always the same thing brought back for his children. He would send back a dress for Libby whilst he was still there, with a note attached saying he saw it and thought of her, with endless love, from Dad. And For Leo, he would send any books that he found invigorating to have on his travels, Which Libby and Leo would clamour over who would get to read them first. And when he would physically return home, he would keep the besotted children up all night telling them what the different cities or countries were like. And how cultured and variable and wonderfully different he found each one.

Libby saw that the scarlet silk gown that was folded lazily over the back of the chaise longue at the end of her bed which was his most recent purchase from abroad, from Rome. He told her how he had walked the streets late one evening and attended the opera, (Don Giovanni) and how every woman was cascaded in deep red, maroon, or scarlet silk. So the next day he found an expensive dressmaker, and had a dress hand made for her. Tailored to her exact body shape, she hadn’t tried it on yet. But she was planning to wear it to Dinner tonight. Along with her pearl earrings that belonged to her grandmother and a splash of Dior perfume that he had brought back with him from France a year ago. She used it sparingly as she adored the scent. 

Leon was traveling back from London this afternoon, to stay for an unknown amount of weeks for the summer. Which delighted Libby, if she and Leo happened to coincide their times in London, (when he wasn’t off in New York, working) and when she had some free time in-between her studies, then they would occasionally meet for a late afternoon tea or lunch. But there was something so final and undisturbed about having him home that meant she couldn’t wait for him to arrive. Like every siblings of course, they were bound to squabble, but as they both got on in years, the teasing became softer, the arguments sillier, and they loved each other more dearly as brother and sister. 

She walked past her vanity table to place the flowers on it, plucking idly at them, seeing how they made the room appear softer, and warmer. As she arranged them, she caught sight of the woman staring back at her in the mirror.

She wasn’t a vain creature. She knew she wasn’t the most attractive woman on the planet, like the sizzling looks of Marlene Dietrich or Carmel Myers with their Hollywood beauty. But she didn’t have an awful complexion she supposed, but then again, like every modest woman she found fault in her features. For instance, she felt her noise was too pointed at the tip, and her eyes were too big. And she didn’t quite like the way her lips looked a might too thin, and she despised the light mole to the left side of her chin that many would consider a beauty spot. She also knew she wasn’t considered to be this seasons raving asset, and that suited her just fine. She loathed the idea of being fawned over like a prize pig at the country fair, because no matter how beautiful you were, next season, there would always be someone who was twice as beautiful. And she had no desire to be stuck on an endless cycle of vanity and show trotting that most women her age fought tooth and nail for. She was also quite relieved that she wasn’t on the side-lines as a run of the mill beauty either. With short brown or blonde hair and brown eyes and plain figures. No. She took some pleasure in the fact that she looked completely different from other girls. Her hair had faded in its vibrant red tones, and had shifted into a dark red bob of hair, which she had trimmed to a ‘pixie crop’ as they so called it. Which swept down just so over her eyes at the front and was clipped and short at the back. 

She had put on a large headband this morning, a vintage multi-coloured silk tie that wrapped around her forehead, the long ties of which rested at the back of her head, and ran down her back. She had placed her small silver gem rose earrings in her ears, and as she went to collect some flowers in the woods, and sat reading by the old river from the small book of poetry that was tucked into the back pocket of her old tweed trousers, that were scuffed at the knees and covered in paint markings. Her duck egg blue shirt, (also covered in paint) which the shirt was tucked into as it was a tad too large. Overall, she didn’t exactly look neat, pristine and groomed. She was fairly certain she had mud and grass stains on her trousers and knees. So she probably smelt like a field, and was dressed most uncommonly for a female, who should be draped in a day dress or other alternative elegant attire. She was quite surprised her mother didn’t throw a fit when she saw her dressed this way earlier, mind, she was too bust worrying about when Cressida would arrive.

Libby just contemplated a long bath to get rid of the grass and mud stains when she heard a car rattle up the gravel drive, crunching its way towards the front door. Peering out her window she saw Leo’s 1911 bright red Stoddard Dayton crawl up the drive. She saw the familiar sight of her dark wavy haired brother with sunglasses across his face, smile, as he curved the car around to come to a stop outside the front door. She also saw that his lips were moving, which meant he was talking to someone in the passenger seat. A Friend. And she knew precisely which fried Leo would bring home for the summer…

Benedict.

Her heart did little jump starts as Leo stopped the car and saw the two get out. And Libby saw once again, the face of the boy she knew, who had become a man. She remembered thinking on the night they met, that he was bound to get infinitely more handsome as he got older. And my word, she could just kick herself at how handsome he was now.

The long thin face was no less compromised by his years, in actual fact. The years had made all the difference. When he smiled the crinkles at the side of his mouth and at the corners of his eyes made his eyes light up when he smiled a certain way. Even though she knew he had been on various trips abroad with Leo, and just for the pleasure of traveling, his skin bore no sun kissed glow, and was its usual pale complexion. Which made his jaw dominate his face under the paleness of his skin, aswell as the curve of his cheeks. She watched as he smiled and leaned his head down, meaning an errant and stray curl of hair sway over his forehead, and he brushed his hand through his dark tresses, attempting to tame them as he squinted at the bright sunshine that was clouding the sight of his dusky blue eyes. Libby smiled to herself as she wondered what it would be like to cart her fingers through that thick dark hair…

Libby smiled as she tore herself away from the window, and raced across her room to run downstairs. She took them two at a time as the front door open and Leo and Ben strode in. Libby watched as her parents gave their welcome’s, assuring Ben, when he stated he was sorry for the change in plans, but, truth be told, Mrs Jones had a sixth sense for these kind of things. And she, and Mr Jones, wholly welcomed the arrival of the young man, as he such a close friend he was nearly considered family. Leo finished clapping hands with his dad, when Libby bounded down the stairs towards them both.

Ben swallowed and smiled widely when he saw her.

She looked twice as strikingly beautiful as he remembered. He had seen her last in May when she celebrated her 24th Birthday at a party in London. They had gathered, drunk champagne and been merry. And danced to the latest records all night long until the sun rose. Her hair had been cropped, so that it was sleek and short and only just reached her eyes at the front, as she turned her head he saw it was short at the back, and he imagined it was soft and thick to run his fingers through. Her eyes still held their luminous beauty, as did her soft lips and pretty skin. 

He watched her laugh as she descended the stairs to them, as Leo opened his arms wide and engulfed her in a large hug with a cry of  
“There’s my kid sister!” 

As he swept her up and spun her round, squeezing her tight in familial sentiment. Before making a mock moaning sound.

“Oh, my. You’re getting heavy in your age old girl!” 

he struggled, placing her down and ruffling her hair, to which she smiled grotesquely, and mocked nearly punching him rowdily in the stomach in a way that only siblings could. (In a way that made her mother roll her eyes and complain that was no way for a lady to behave)

As Leo moved aside, Libby was left smiling at Ben as he spoke to her.

“But what your loathsome brother fails to comment on, is that fact that you’re getting more and more beautiful, Ms Jones.” Ben teased,

She winced and shook her head. Smiling a very wonderful smile at him.

He smiled wider, so the crinkles and lines made his eyes switch on like a blue bulb. She crossed and gave him a welcoming hug. In which he revelled at the feeling of having her in his arms. He smiled feeling her there, seeing as how she smelt like a maddening combination of fresh flowers and perfume. And the fact she was wearing old tight trousers made his head swim as he realised he could see the outline of her marvellous figure. 

“How many more times am I going to have to beg you to call me Libby?”

She spoke into his ear, her hot breath on his earlobe feeling dangerously good and making him feel very hazardous thoughts. He smiled and hugged her right back. Before they pulled away and looked at each other in close proximity.

“At least once more. Libby.” He winked.


	3. The Scarlet Woman...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Give us our heroes, a hot summers day, an unspoken confession, and a repulsive blonde bombshell... and there, dear readers, the scene is set.

After Leo and Ben’s luggage had been fetched and sent to their rooms by Parker, Mr Jones excused himself to make a work call and Mrs Jones complained she needed to rest and ail her nerves for tonight’s dinner. So the three decided, as it was growing sparingly hot, to take drinks out by the old swimming pond round the back of the house. 

Leo and Ben lounged lazily in the striped lawn chairs that rested on the jetty near the diving board, talking lethargically about political matters and how work was faring for the both of them. Before Libby walked out to join them, she strode across the lawn wrapped in a towel with her bathing suit on underneath it. The men, too ‘grown up’ to swim claimed Leo, had long since shedded their jackets and both undone a couple of buttons on their shirts, as they weren’t in formal company, they could forgo traditionalities for the sake of it being so hot. Leo turned to see his kid sister bound across the lawn, the distance swiftly covered by her long legs. He turned back and looked out over the pond, sipping a club soda and reminding himself of the pleasant view. 

Ben, however, saw a walking goddess. 

The sight of her bare pale skin was completely maddening, He had never seen her quite so undressed, before. He realised that thought in an inappropriate way. And as she approached, smiled and threw off her towel, he saw more of her skin laid bare in the sunlight for him. And he knew she didn’t put on the garment for him especially, but part of him, the insanely incomprehensible part, liked the believe that she had. The short suit that bared her skin so prettily was a tight cut, staring over her bust and ending just so on the tops of her thighs, it was a dark red colour with a tie of the same tone cinching in her waist, the straps of it curved over her shoulders and the back fell away in a deep V shaped absence of material and a long expanse of her back was shown. He was delighted and oddly pleased that she hadn’t tried to whittle away her figure like the stick thin style that every woman wanted. She still had notable curves that clung in all the right places. And the unveiled sight of them made him grow positively warm from the inside out. Never mind the scorching heat of the midday sun, he was too busy being scorned in a whole other league of it’s own. And she was the cause. 

She placed her towel down on an empty chair, and smiled at the both of them, stood with one hand resting upon it, and the other raising her drink to her lips. 

“Have you two been absolute boors and talked about nothing but work while I’ve been gone?” she teased, bringing a cigarette to her lips and lighting it. Taking a deep inhale and resting the burning tip in her fingers as she smiled at them both wickedly.

“I still see you have a knack for avoiding dull conversation Sis?” Leo smiled.

Libby puffed out a curl of smoke through her smiling lips.  
“And by that remark, I understand you still initiate aforesaid boring conversation…”

She concluded, walking barefoot over the jetty to look out across the deep green pond. Benedict struggled not to laugh, the Girls wit was infallible. Even Leo let a smile cross his lips, no one quite jested him like his sister. 

“You’re terribly good for him did you know that?”

Ben said, turning and smiling at her, seeing her examine him with those lovely eyes of hers. 

“In London or New York he gets far too many people taking him seriously, I think he relishes in your japing with him just for the fun of breaking a force of habit.” 

Libby smiled, walking back over and stubbing out her cigarette on the ashtray.

“I’m a kid sister. If I don’t belittle him, then I’m out of a profession.” 

She smiled discreetly to Ben before walking back over to the edge of the jetty, and positioning her toes on the edge to dive in. 

“What about your actual profession, how is the hunt for that coming along?” Leo asked, lighting up as ben took a long sip of his own cold drink.

“Splendid. Mother’s petitioning for a new Rich Bachelor to hurry up and wed the repulsive likes of me, the severe, tongue lashing, unemployed spinster…” 

She spoke over her shoulder, closing her eyes and diving in. her words punctuated by a soft splash as she dove into the green depth of the cool pond in the baring sun. 

Ben and Leo chuckled at her ever present wit.

“Your mother’s still soliciting after marriage proposals then?” 

Ben asked dryly with a small smile. If there was one thing Mrs Jones was splendid at, it was scheming and attempting to wed off her children to rich partners. She had been trying so for years. Leo’s interests in work and his non interests in settling down just yet, aswell as His sister’s fierce tongue and upright personality being the only reasons both of them had resisted for so long.

Ben, also felt a strange sense of stabbing and resistance at the thought of Libby marrying a faceless bachelor. His chest swelled with hot and uncomfortable anger 

“Yes. And she’s damn good at it too. Unfortunately. You know that, oh, what was her name? That… Beatrice Fitzwilliam girl, from Cheswick?”

“Boring Beatrice?” 

Ben smiled wryly. Now, it wasn’t in his nature to be cruel about much less anyone behind their back, but Beatrice was the rich heiress of her Fathers barony, who was a big name in the sugar trading business. But, the poor girl was notorious on the social grapevines for being as dull as Dishwater. They had been invited for Dinner at The Jones’s house in Kensington, and she spent the entire evening remarking to everyone the incorrect shade of her nail polish. Ben remembered he was 20 at the time, same age as Leo, and he and Libby, who was a young age of 18 at the time, had sat giggling behind their napkins as they and to watch Leo try not to gouge his eyes out with the fish knife out of sheer agony. 

“The very one…” 

Leo remarked dryly seeing his friends humour grow in his smile. 

“She tried to coral me last season into reinterring into elopement with the dammed chit...” 

He spoke unamused. Ben’s smile grew further.

“Then you could live happily ever after at her family home in Cheswick, spending your days discussing nail polish and fabrics, and become the perfect doting husband.” Ben joked.

Leo practically growled at the accusation. 

Behind them, they heard soft splashes ripple close to the edge of the water where it lapped and licked hungrily against the jetty, and as he turned her saw Libby rest her arms on the edge. Her skin glistened with water and her hair was wet, as her brown tresses looked black with the density of the water, and stuck to her scalp, beading droplets down over her, she rested her chin on her arms, smiling at the two of them. Her eyes glinting in the shade of the tree that protected them all from the suns naked heat. With the dark shade of the tree and the glimmering lake behind her, she looked radiant, rested and wonderful. And seeing her in that moment, made Ben want to become a painter and capture this instant in incontestable clarity, so he could be reminded of it forever.

“Is that Beatrice Fitzwilliam?” 

She asked, catching on to the last snippet of their conversation. Knowing the mere mention of the mind numbing girl would immediately incur Leo’s ire. 

“You know she got engaged last month to Marcus Dibsby. They’re set to be married in the spring.” Libby contested

Leo looked instantly relieved. 

“Thank heavens. For that poor man’s sake I hope he’s deaf and simple.” 

“Leo! That’s a brutish thing to say!” 

Libby riled, as she heaved herself up out of the water, loud gushing sounds falling off her as she slipped easily out of the water and up onto the jetty, crossing to the towel she left on the chair, leaving wet footprints behind her as she went. Before folding herself in the towel, and lowering her small frame onto the seat, joining them at the table. Ben noted with hunger how beads of water were tearing down her skin, disappearing beneath her bust and he had to try very hard not to follow them with his eyes. 

“It’s nothing but the truth!” Leo intoned.

“What about you Sis? Any flickering’s of Love or marriage on the horizon?” Leo jested, beaming at her, she narrowed her eyes lazily, leaning back in her chair.

She had to try so hard at the moment to not glance at the man sat opposite from her brother, or she knew she would fall painfully embarrassed. And under such scrutiny her gaze and blush was likely to give her away.

“Yes, I have a very amorous and active love life. In the last year alone I have turned down four proposals…” she spoke.

Benedict felt relieved in the least to hear her say that.

“Who from?” Ben burst out before his brain could stop him, when she looked across at him he smiled to soften the harshness of his outburst.

“Lawrence Finch. Jeremy Grey – mind, his father was none too pleased at him offering his hand to me. Sebastian Waterhouse, and last but not least, Emery Thornton.”

“The one with the enormous nose, the soft dandy. A penniless ‘novelist’ and a Frenchman. Hmm. Not exactly the cream of the crop…” Leo joked. 

“I happen to agree with you on that first one…” Libby said in a small voice, it wasn’t in her nature to be rude, but the man’s nose was at least a length that would constitute being noted in the Guinness world records book.

“The rest of them were, charming. In their own way. Jeremy and I shared the fascination for the same literature, Sebastian took me for a walk around his Cambridge campus, and he was quite the keen rower. We had a picnic on his row boat. And well, the Frenchman was very charming, he even penned a poem in my honour… la fille avec les yeux lumineux…” she chanted in a perfect soft French accent. 

“Then why didn’t you marry him? Move to Paris, stop bathing and have hordes of French offspring?” Leo joked, to which all three of them were unable to contain their laughter.

“Because…. “She started.

“They were all very pleasant, but. None of them where…..” she began, searching for the right words.

“None of them were what?” Ben urged softly, keen to hear her finish her thought.  
She looked straight at him then, having to use all her summon-able willpower to hold herself back from opening her full pink lips, gazing deep into his eyes and saying one word.

“You.”

None of them were you, Benedict…. 

Because all the while I was sat on a boat having a picnic on the River cam, laughing away happily…. Or while I was having tea at Selfridges and eagerly gabbing about books….. Or when someone was speaking soft words in amorous French to me that they had taken to time to pen out of the inaudible language of their heart…… I couldn’t help but want that someone to be you, all along…

She blinked, opening her mouth.

“They were nice….But I don’t want my future husband to be just that. Just, nice. That’s why they weren’t for me…” she smiled, taking a sip of her drink.

Ben saw something sad, soft and unspoken wash across her eyes. Over the years they had been firm friends, he had gotten to know every expression that graced her complexion. And he saw she was hesitating in that very instant when she had looked at him. 

“I say. Are we all so uncivilised as to socialising outside like animals in the barnyard?”

Came a nasally gravelly woman’s voice echoing across the lawn. Everyone turned to look as a thin Blonde woman picked herself in her dainty heels over the grass. She wore a long and glimmering silver and white fringed day dress, which hung off her skinny frame immaculately, atop of which was worn a large, white fur collared coat which looked both expensive and utterly impractical in the hot country heat. Squeezed over her array of blonde curls was a white hat, which had a portion of white lace covering one of her large brown eyes. And her fully rouged lips curved into a lecherous smile as she looked hungrily and eagerly at the two handsome men, ignoring Libby completely.

It seems Cressida had arrived.

 

 

 

(Note: Not terribly long, but vitally important... More to follow shortly)


	4. Bitter Words and White Knights...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Give us trouble in paradise at the hands of a blonde drama queen, who loves toying with emotions and people, and whose intentions are nothing short of malicious. Then give us our inquisitive hero coming to the rescue of his (and our) beloved heroine...

Ben and Leo seemed to bridle in her sudden appearance. Shirts were pulled down, smoothing out the creases, as hands were run through hair and stances stiffened and took on a more powerful stance to face the woman. They weren’t appearing vain and wanting to look at their best for her at all, they simply didn’t want their previously heat rumpled appearance to be commented and insulted upon by her scrutinising and hurtful eyes.

Ben watched as she approached, her smile outwardly beaming at both him and Leo like she was sizing them up in a predatory fashion. Deciding who she wanted to catch first. She trailed a tentative white gloved hand down Leo’s arm as she stood close to him. Leo looked down at his shoulder like her hand was infecting him, before gazing back up at the awful woman’s face, as she smiled a filthily flirty greeting to him.

“It’s an immeasurable pleasure to see you again, Leo.”

She purred through her rouged lips as she lifted her hand to him, and Leo took it and kissed it, wanting to act every inch the perfect host despite the fact he despised the woman. As he lowered her hand he smiled sharply, not wanting the expression to stay on his face too long in case she mistook it for him actually enjoying her company.

“As it is to see you, Ms Cowper.”

“It’s Ms Quinn, now actually. Courtesy of my late husband. Poor man, his heart just isn’t what it used to be. I’m still in mourning after his late memory...”

She mocked, feigning sadness. Libby’s blood boiled.

The Late Oil Baron, Lesley Quinn had married the blonde abomination out of sheer want of a trophy spouse, but upon his death, didn’t seek to leave the wanting woman any of his large fortune. Which, angered Cressida immensely. As one of the only reasons for their sudden elopement, was that Cressida wanted nothing more than his wealth. And she had gone a long way to secure it. (Or not as the case may be) and now she was left in the lurch, wanting a younger, equally as prosperous young man with whom she could quench her ‘sadness and mourning’ for the late Mr Quinn. She was a scheming, nasty and revolting bitch. And Libby could barely handle being within a metres radius of her for any prolonged amount of time. She also detested the fact that Cressida claimed to be in 'mourning' and using that as a sordid excuse to cosy up to potential new husbands. Like it was a hook for her to grab them with, or an angle she could inflict on others with little remorse for her actions. The week she was staying at the Jones’s house was more than ample enough time for Libby to say exactly what she thought of her… (And there was sure to be plenty of cussing thrown around if she did)

Cressida then unleashed the full force of her unappealing smile on Ben. Which he hated the sight of.

“It’s exquisite to see you again, Benedict. It really has been far too long.” She leered,

No. it really hasn’t. In actual truth, it hasn’t been long enough. Ben thought to himself.

“You look in most agreeable health, Cressida.” Ben grit out, smiling even though he really didn’t want to. But, Leo had displayed polite decorum. And he didn’t wish to show his friend up by being rude.

Cressida shifted her gaze to Libby then.

Ben watched as Libby’s whole demeanour changed around the lecherous woman. She seemed to stiffen and tense up, not the usual long limbed full of grace and elegance woman he knew her to be. She looked wound up and angered. And as Cressida’s calculating gaze swept over her, sat hunched in her towel, he saw why.

Cressida gave a sly sneer, looking at the damp young woman in her bathing suit, up and down with a quick flicker of her eyes, which gleamed maliciously as they scanned her. And a slight sneer tugged at her lips in only a nasty and cruel way. And it became strikingly obvious in that moment that Cressida was downsizing Libby in the most demeaning of ways. To which Libby shuffled, uncrossing her legs, before crossing them again, and pulling the towel further over herself, shielding her skin from Cressida’s awful glance. Ben watched as Libby shifted in unease, grinding his jaw together as he fought the urge to step in front of Libby and hide her from the awful woman’s cruel and disapproving analysis.

Ben wanted nothing more in that moment then to Tell Cressida in a mixed range of cruel words just exactly what he thought of her, and then he wanted to ignore her, turn to Libby and grab her by the shoulders and pour words into her to make her see that she shouldn’t let the hostile blonde make her feel inferior with one fell sweep of her eyes and the cruel twitch of a smirk. He wanted to hold her close to him and tell her she was worth a hundred of the skinny blonde no one and that she was comparable to a goddess, of whom Cressida wasn’t worthy of one of her blue eyed gazes, much less her fits of uncomfortable insecurity.

Ben watched as Libby straightened her spine and nodded a greeting to her.

Any lesser girl, who had no dignity or ability to have a backbone, who received a glimpse like that from Cressida would have stayed silent and let her send all the analytic glances she liked at their looks. Making them shy and quiet and ashamed in their own skin. Libby was no such woman.

“Cressida, you look well. It’s lovely to see you again.” Libby lied through her teeth.

Ben felt himself immensely proud of her for rising above the woman’s inauspiciousness.

Oh Libby, he thought. Don’t ever change.

“I do look well, I quite agree with you. I’d look even better however if I could retire to my room and change my dress, I’m all wrinkled and tired from travelling.” She huffed

A quick scan from all three of her unapproving audience revealed that there want a wrinkle in sight on her flawless and pristinely white coat and dress.

Libby’s mood dropped almost instantaneously. She realised what that otherwise pointed statement meant.

“I’ll show you to our guest room Cressida…” Libby offered sweetly to the woman. Ben didn’t think she deserved one inch of Libby’s kindness.

She stood and skirted around the table, walking over to Cressida’s side as the two women made their way back across the lawn.

“I say, why ever are you dripping wet and in a bathing suit? It’s most uncommon and uncivilised.” She mocked, examining Libby’s appearance even as they walked towards the house.

“I took a swim in the pond, it’s quite refreshing in this heat, actually.” She stood up for herself.

“Oh how positively medieval! You’ll need to bathe for at least a week to get the stench of that filthy pond off you!” Cressida cried, mocking her further.

Libby had only been in the chit’s company for three minutes, and she’d already been called uncivilised, uncommon, and told she smelled like a filthy pond.

They walked through the back doors and through the parlour and across into the foyer.

“I must say, your mother does decorate her house so finely. Such a shame that it’s so out of date...” She remarked, looking with distain at the wallpaper and furniture. Libby looked lovingly at the pleasant décor her home beheld, wondering if anything ever made this woman happy than being rude or disrespectful.

Libby bit her lip and said nothing. Wanting to display a full sense of polite decorum. Despite the fact that she was tempted to push the woman ‘accidentally’ down some stairs or ‘inadvertently’ into the swimming pond in an exact of revenge.

Cressida followed Libby up the stairs, Libby saw her grasp the banister, before wincing and looking at her untarnished white glove, checking for any specks of grey dust as if she feared everything she touched to be grimy or unclean. Libby ground her jaw together. Stomping lightly up the last few steps, and showing her along the landing and to the left around the corner into the room where her luggage was waiting at the end of the bed. They intercepted Eliza on the way, who curtseyed politely to Cressida, relieving Libby of her sopping wet towel and giving her a long black silk dressing gown to cover herself up with, before walking away. Making an unpleasant face to the back of Cressida’s head as she was turned. Libby struggled hard not to laugh. The two women walked into the bright airy and freshly cleaned room.

“Here’s your room. I hope it’s to your liking…” Libby spoke nicely, despite the fact she wanted to claw her nails down Cressida’s perfect sneering face.

Cressida walked in. Drifting lazily past Libby as she spoke, inspecting the spotless, but nonetheless large and expensively furnished room. That would no doubt have multiple flaws to it if she had her cruel way about it.

She walked to the bed, examining the carpet in a fussy manner, before placing her hand on the bed, feeling the texture of the bedding under her bare hand as she had whipped off the glove, she made a pinched face before standing next to it and folding her hands over one another as she looked on in distain at the otherwise immaculate room.

“Well. It’ll have to do I suppose…” she said, reclining on the bed on one hip, looking fleetingly at the ceiling.

“I would have so liked to have had my own bathroom though….” She murmered sadly.

“There is a bathroom just next-door that you can use. You and Leo are the only ones on this floor, and he has his own private bath.” Libby gritted.

Her eyes lit up at the mention of Her Brothers name.

“His room is on the same floor as mine?” she enquired, smiling.

Libby felt she needed to warn Leo to lock his door at night.

“Yes. Just at the end of the hall.”

“Hmmm. I see. And Benedict’s room?”

“In the East wing. Near to mine.”

“Oh, aren’t we all couple off with one another.” She joked, wrinkling her nose as she smiled.

“I beg your pardon?” Libby stated. Blinking in disbelief.

“He’s a very fine man. Is Benedict. A very fine man… Rich too.”

Cressida wondered aloud, fiddling with her faux diamond earrings. Her right leg that was crossed over the left started swaying as it dangled off the bed. Libby didn’t like the way she was sizing up Ben to an analogy that made him sound like a piece of meat.

“I bet he has scores of young women in London lusting after him.” She spoke, taking off her gloves.

Libby frowned slightly, that didn’t sound like Ben. Not one bit.

“The man’s a natural born Casanova. With his handsome looks that any airheaded girl would die for, I bet he has a fair few mistresses under his wing. And you needn’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” She winked.

Libby was utterly astounded.

“I’m sorry. But if you have a secret regarding myself, it must be one I’m not privy too.” Libby spoke quickly. Confused by Cressida’s insinuation.

Cressida threw her head back and laughed. It was a sound that made Libby’s skin crawl, mainly because she knew the shrill woman’s laughter was directed at her, and not with her.

“You mean to tell me that you aren’t having an affair with Benedict?”

Libby was rendered speechless. Gaping at what she had said.

“I’m not having an affair with Benedict.”

Libby spoke with absolute certainty. If she admitted she did, then she would fall under Cressida's category of 'airheaded young girls' who were apparently lusting after Benedict.

“You’re not seeing him in any way?” she asked, pressing the matter further.

“Absolutely not! We would never! Ben’s a friend. Nothing more.” Libby insisted

Cressida’s eyes glinted cruelly.

“Well. If he is just a friend. You won’t mind my interjecting myself then…”

She smiled, looking across to the window out over the lawn where the man in question could be seen walking back over the lawn with Leo. Smiling handsomely in the disappearing amber glow of the suns light, which indicated it was turning into late afternoon.

Libby felt her insides turn to lead.

“I’ve been looking for a man to whom I can console my mourning with… I’m sure Ben won’t turn away a weeping woman who needs a shoulder to cry on.”

Cressida smirked. Her leg swung in wider strides now as she was enjoying herself.

“Dinner’s served at eight thirty. I’ll see to it you’re seated next to Ben as you admire him so greatly.”

Libby steeled, walking out of the room pulling the door to behind her.  
She made it but a couple of steps down the hall, before she turned and braced her back against the cold wall.

Cressida was every inch the most sickening, repulsive, backstabbing, lecherous, vindictive, cruel bitch ever to grace the face of the earth. Libby couldn’t believe she had let so much slip to the horrible girl, and to top it all off she had lied through her teeth to her, she didn’t just like Ben in a friendly manner, and she had daydreams about his lips, and fantasies about his wonderful eyes. And it physically ailed and pained her to think that Cressida was digging her razor sharp malicious claws into both her Brother, and her Best Friend. It made her ache and anger. All because she wanted to rile Libby into jealousy simply because it was something to while away the time, and it entertained her to make her think she could toy with people in this way.

Libby wouldn’t let herself be crushed under Cressida’s thumb so easily.

She huffed, straightened and walked down the stairs. Ben and Leo were just walking in from the parlour, where they had just entered the house through the back door. They were laughing and chatting animatedly before they saw Libby, Leo’s smile carried on, but Ben’s didn’t.

She smiled at them both. Ben could see she was agitated, and that didn’t fill him with joy. The Opposite, it filled him with sadness.

“I’m going to wring that woman’s neck before the week is out.”

She hissed loudly to them both as she got to them both in the foyer. Leo smirked.

“I implore you, keep your murderous wishes to a minimum for this evening, Captain Phillips is joining us to dine. Aswell as his son, Frederick.”

“I would commit murder in front of a nun if it means I get to be the one who rids the world of that odious, bitter, poisonous, bitch!” Libby spluttered.

Leo recoiled smiling.

“And I don’t know what you’re smirking about. She’s in the second floor guest.” She said.

Leo’s face dropped into a humourless mask.

“Oh yes Brother dear. I’d advise you to lock your doors when you go to bed.”

Libby smirked sweetly.

Ben smiled too.

“You too Ben, I have an inkling she has her sights set on you. And no single man sleeping under the same roof as Cressida is deemed safe.”

Leo smiled, turning to Ben.

“Your bedroom door, doesn’t have a lock. You may have to use a chair to barricade it shut.”

He smirked. Ben gave his friend a glare of unempathetical anger as both men were in the same boat in regards to being preyed on by the same blonde floozy.

“If you’ll excuse me. I’m going to look for a book to take in the bath with me, before I have to get ready, and prepare myself for to have to lower my blood pressure before she undoubtedly makes it spike back up again later this evening.”

She huffed, turning away from them both, and storming into the large family library.

Ben watched her go, seeing her disappearing figure retreat, her body swaying under the sensuous black silk of her gown. He looked after her, wanting to know what malevolent words the odious bitch had bittered Libby with.

“Listen Ben, you know your way to the room, don’t you? I have to go and talk to father about a few things before dinner. I trust you don’t need me to escort you up?” Leo asked.

Ben nodded and smiled at his friend as he disappeared off into the study, shutting the door behind him. Leaving Ben in silence as he looked to the Library door she had just gone into.

Of course he knew the way to his room, he knew the house like the back of his hand from all the summers he had spent here.

But that doesn’t mean that was where he was inclining to go right at that moment…

He stepped towards the Library door. Slipping inside.


	5. Falsifications...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Give us a quiet room, a ticking clock, and at last, a spoken confession, from out hero to our heroine, of a most amorous nature.

Give us a quiet room, a ticking clock, and at last, a spoken confession, from our hero to our heroine, of a most amorous nature.

 

~

 

Ben entered the Library slowly, leaving the door ajar behind him. He didn’t want her to feel like he was cornering her in the room. He walked in, peering into the second half of the room, that branched out into a separate room, portioned off containing a fireplace, a writing desk and sofa’s and armchairs for comfort.

He wound his way around the bookshelf that stood in the centre of the first room, manoeuvring himself into the second room, to see Libby, stood with her back to him, her head bowed, scanning over the bookshelf as she looked for a book. Her body looked taut and rigid. Stiff with anger from her encounter with Cressida.

He was about to open his mouth when he thought of a better idea…

“Pardon me. But, are you alright?” 

He echoed his first words to her.

Her saw her profile crinkle in a way that meant he knew she had smiled.

“Funny how you always seem to say those words to me in my darkest hours.”

She spoke softly, fingers picking idly at the spine of a book on the shelf. Before she turned to face him, her hands behind her back as she stood opposite him and smiled. In that moment, Ben thought, she looked like an unutterably shy, debutant, wall flowered teenager again.

Benedict smiled, looking at the floor before he looked back up at her again.

“I came in here to ask what words Cressida used that constitutes you wringing her neck? You look most shaken by the matter.” 

Ben urged softly, stepping closer towards his friend.

“I wouldn’t want to sour your mind by telling you.” Libby smiled.

“I think I can manage whatever overthought words spilled from her awful lips.” He promised, making an optimistic smile cause his eyes to dance with light like Christmas tree lights.

She sighed and looked up at him. “You really want to hear?”

“I would very much like too.” He spoke, using his soft eyes to gaze at her with tenderness, as if he knew the look would worm the words right out of her lips.

“Now I think about what she said, it sounds awfully female and nonsensical.” She blushed, pressing a hand to her cheeks as they reddened. Ben couldn’t help but love the sight.

So he was forced to contradict her with a stern look that still managed to be kind.

“Libby. Our very friendship is based on the fundamental foundations of the fact that nothing you say could ever be female or nonsensical.”

She sighed.

“She told me in no uncertain terms that she would very much like to have a sordid affair with either you, or my brother.”

Ben felt cold spines prickle down his back. Lord, that woman was cruel and vindictive. And so very very mislead. The only woman in this house he would consider sweeping into his arms and loving her so tenderly, would be the woman in front of him.

He raised one eyebrow at her.

“You really credit me and Your Brother with such little intelligence that you think we would even enter into an affair with Britain’s most horrific harpy? When, as it is, we can barely hold a conversation with the woman without wanting to assault her stupid mouth into blissful silence.”

Libby fought a snigger, placing her hand over her mouth.

“You see? You agree that It was highly foolish of me to feel the way I do as a result of her words.”

“I confess that I do. But, I’m also heartened by your empathy.”

She looked down at the floor. “heartened?” she asked.

“I feel the complete fool.”

she uttered to herself, softly, and embarrassed. 

He tucked her chin upwards with his hand.

“You are being empathetic because you care for me and for your brother. And Cressida’s just a bored nasty little girl who seeks to do damage to people of whom she is envious. She’s not worth incurring your wrath. But if you could please just put her in her place with the severe lashings of your wonderful unguarded tongue, which, in my opinion is being far too dormant as of late.”

Benedict pleaded, grasping her hands and begging her. Holding her eyes with his, and with such raw purpose.

“I’m her host! I can’t be the one to take her down a peg or two, that would be deplorably rude of me. And neither can you or Leo, she thinks highly of you both. She called you a very fine man.”

Libby informed him, smiling flightily.

“Well she can take her compliments regarding myself and toss them right out of the window. I wouldn’t care to believe a single word that crosses her vehement lips, even if it is masquerading as a compliment.” Ben said meaningfully.

“She also said that you-“

Libby started. But Ben cut her off swiftly, coming to stand even nearer to her.

“I don’t want her.”

Ben said forcefully. He prayed to god in that moment that his eyes were screaming, frantic and ranting like a madman with the unspoken plea of

‘I Want You.'

He wanted so much right then to just reach out, take her face into his hands and say those damned three words. Because he did. So wholly and so desperately, that the want was suffocating him from the inside out. Branding him. Burning him. He tried to quash it. To ignore it for all these years. But now, it wanted him to imprison him, hold him captive and force him to listen to its pleading and stammering screams.

I want you, Libby…

More than any man should ever want a woman in the sense of respectability. More than was sane, or explanatory. He wanted to take her to his room, lock the door and keep her there for a week showing her just exactly how much he wanted her. Ever since the night they had met, since he had fallen so empirically hard for her that night (when he heard her defend herself) that he had been unable to get up since or ever would again. He had then loved her all throughout his twenties, even when he was at college, when he was a spirited young bachelor with the world at his fingertips, and the riotous pleasure and disposable affairs of young twenty something girls beckoned, never did it manage to sway him from loving her. Many of his friends, including Leo, had succumbed to the uncontrollable desire for the instantaneous indulgence and passable bliss that those girls would offer for the night. But Ben never could. None of their smiles were as great as hers. None of them could make him laugh until his sides ached like she could. And certainly none of them were as stunningly beautiful as she was. And so while Ben was ignoring the rapid immoderation of the women, and the then 19 year old Libby was just starting her studies at Imperial College, they wrote. They wrote hundreds of letters to each other, at least one per day. And if either one of them forgot, the next day, there would be an extra letter to make up for the absence of one the previous day…

He had wanted the woman in front of him for nearly a decade now. One very long, very blissful yet so completely torturous decade.

The reasons being for his hesitance, was that he wasn’t sure that Leo would approve. His friend was so very protective when it came to his sister, and he would hate to betray aforesaid friendship. Leo was his closest friend. And worth more than the whole group of other male associates Ben had in London put together. Leo Jones was worth the whole rotten bunch.

He also had a hesitance when it came to Libby’s parent’s aswell. Mr and Mrs Jones were loving and caring parents to their children, to be sure, and he was convinced that they wouldn’t be sure to part with them to anyone who wasn’t worthy. Despite the fact that Libby grumbled and groaned about her mother’s matchmaking antics, Ben felt deep down that she was just doing it as she wanted her daughter to be happy, and well cared for and provided for in her matrimonial union. And he wasn't all entirely certain that he would, firstly, be granted Leo’s approval, and secondly, warranted with the approval of her Parent’s.

But even his certainty of their disapproval didn’t sway his fantasies…

He wanted Libby in his bed every night to make long amorous love to her into the small hours of the morning. And when the morning did come, he wanted to wake up with her by his side with every sunrise. He wanted to take her travelling all over the globe, he knew she was dying to go to Egypt, India, Africa, Rome, China, and so many other countries she had listed to him once in a letter after he had sent her a postcard from the River Nile on one of his trips. He wanted to tour the entirety of the globe with her. To come home from a busy day’s work in London to her, but, under no circumstances would he want her to be his bored and doting housewife. If she was to be wedded to him, then his first vow would be to ensure she had the job of her dreams, so when he did come home to her each evening, he could listen to her talk about it excitedly and spiritedly, with her blue eyes lighting up like flares when she told him of what she had done that day. He would be content to just sit and watch her light up when she talked passionately about the things she loved. He wouldn’t settle for anything less than her having a life that was incomparable to her finest dream. She beamed when she became adoring about something, and he would never want to be the man that dulled her shine and kept her a devoted, and miserable spouse, he would hate to be the cause of her misery. He would ensure her happiness before his with his last breath.

And, selfishly, he wanted to be the one to give all that to her…

She seemed to bridle at the hot look in his eyes. That was underlined with seriousness.

“Who do you want, Ben?”

Libby asked him, her voice having gone small and quiet. Much unlike the ruthless manner that her tongue and wit so usually took. She couldn’t believe she had just spoken those outrageously flirtatious words to him. Her best friend. She was suddenly aware of a tight but not unpleasant, or painful sensation that erupted somewhere near her rigorously beating heart. She also felt hot and very inclined to blush if she wasn’t already sure that her cheeks were outrageously red.

She noticed Ben’s gaze was resting solely on her lips as she swallowed. Before his eyes met hers and one small, cracked word broke away from in-between his lips.

“You.” 

Libby felt, in that moment what it was like when her heart completely overtook the matter of all such logical legislations that was formerly decided upon by the decision making organ in her head.

Because Ben leaned but a mere matter of inches forwards, and kissed her.

She felt, what it was like, right then, to be kissed with total, utter and complete. unpersuadable love. He poured every single emotion that the last ten years had collected up, onto her lips. How he loved her wit. How he hated absolutely nothing about her. How she made him smile enchantingly even when she wasn’t around.

She sware her heart almost stopped.

Everything. And anything he had. He now used to explain inaudibly but passionately in that one kiss.

His hand reached around to the back of her head, stealing in contact as his hand gently cradled the back of her damp hair. His previous predictions were right, it was soft and textured under his palm. Gliding under his warm dry hand with slick ease due to the wet tresses. His long digits tugging in-between the soft wetness, clinging onto her. And keeping her in place.

She didn’t know what to do. She had never been kissed like this before. Of course there had been numerous kisses on the backs of her hands, even onto her cheeks and her forehead in familial or friendly sentiment. But nothing ever as intimate or as heart splittingly wonderful as this. She didn’t know where to place her hands. Her left hand – just barely – managed to grip the book in the weakening fingers. The right, she decided, would be brave and bold, and touch him. Tentatively, and as his warm soft lips twisted evermore wildly onto hers, she deftly stroked the side of his face, her thumb running over a sharp jawbone in a manner that made him ache, and grumble into her mouth.

His lips, fight it as they might, finally pried themselves away from her own. As he skimmed the tip of her nose with his, his terribly hot, club soda scented breath washed over her face, reddening her cheeks even further. As she looked deep into his eyes, she very nearly lost herself from seeing them so closely, admiring every speck of gold, or green she could see scattered across his dilated blue eyes. She also saw how his lips looked large and red, seeming to have been near bruised and marked from kissing her. He adored seeing how her cheeks grew ever more blushed as he remained close to her, he was even able to adore the fullness and somehow erotic length of her long eyelashes. That brimmed over onto her cheeks when her eyes fluttered downwards.

He spoke then, in husky passion choked words.

“Forgive me.”

He spoke softly. She didn’t know what to say.

“You needn’t apologise for that.” 

She whispered against his lips.

He smiled.

“I wasn’t.”

He beamed, his hand that lay buried in her hair trailed down her neck, igniting her skin where he dared touch it.

“Forgive me, but I can’t falsify my emotions any longer…” 

He spoke. Hand resting on the back of her neck. His nose brushing her own.

Libby smiled against his lips.

“Neither can I.”

She urged gently.

Both of them smiled to one another as they stayed in close and passionate proximity, and both Libby and Ben felt the swell of pure happiness burst in their bodies, travelling from head to toe. Enflaming them both from knowing they were in the arms of the one person they truly loved. It left them smiling and unable to catch their breath. All from being too incandescently happy.

“But all I can think of at this precise moment in time, is precisely how much I must smell like a filthy, murky old pond.”

She smiled, and Ben did too. Laughing gently. Making wrinkles crease his eyes and lips as she struggled not to run her fingers over them.

“You smell delectable.” 

He assured her, Nuzzling his nose into hers again, shifting close to her lips once more, so he could kiss her again, but not before he could whisper against the perfect pink buds of her mouth, 

“You always smell delectable...”

He urged, closing into another embrace. 

And they kissed again, a briefer encounter this time. Still clutching one another, and reluctant to pull away until Libby heard the clock chime softly that it was half two from the mantel, reminding herself that there was a world surrounding her and Benedict, to caught and wrapped up in each other, and the euphoria of the moment.

“I have to go and ready myself for dinner.”

She explained with a touch of sadness. Pulling away, slowly he slid his arms from her, as he released his touch from the wonderful soft pertness of her skin, he was instantly reminded that he wanted to touch it instantaneously once more. Left in withdrawal from the addiction of touching her. Feeling her in his hands.

“I’ll see you later. The hours are sure to feel an eternity in your absence.”

He spoke softly. Watching her smile as she smiled, him doing the same, before walking away, leaving him stood there, practically exploding with happiness that he was barely managing to contain inside himself. And she wasn’t sure what strength or willpower was forcing her to walk away.

She didn’t know at all, and she didn’t care.

Because Ben wanted her. And in that moment…

 

That was all, in the entirety of the earth and the infinity of space, that meant anything to her.


	6. Ingenuous Sentiments...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now give us a scorching day that's shifting into evening, reflective thoughts, a romantic story, and an accidental glimpse that our Hero shouldn't have been had...

The suns amber glow was setting the surrounding green fields of the Jones’s home ablaze with its fiery red light. The previous emerald green blades of grass were tinged in ochre flames of the setting sun, and the large green oak trees that surrounded the drive at the side of the house was purged in its setting glow, looking like a tree that was clad in Autumn colours in the sun, despite the fact it was still summer. The slanted shade of the house sliced across the grass, contrasting with the pale fire of late evening that simmered in the air and across the surrounding fields. A warm summer’s evening was creeping in in tender tiptoes, bringing with it the promise of a lethargic warm evening that would shift effortlessly into a cloudless starry night. Libby gazed at its wonder out of the window. Pondering whether or not it would be a full moon tonight with an easy smile that had not gone away from gracing her lips…

Libby was preparing her bath for the evening, having long since shed her damp bathing suit and hung it out to dry, all she was doing now was waiting for the bath to fill of hot water, and the scent of the lavender and vanilla bath salts she adored, and had poured generously into the warm water filled the steamy room with their aroma as she waited. 

She walked back through to her bedroom, holding up the scarlet silken dress that her father had brought her in Rome, examining it pressed up against herself as she smiled into the looking glass. She smiled wider and tossed the dress onto the end of her bed, deciding lazily which shoes she wanted to wear with it. Eventually, she found her old pair of dark red silk pumps that were an age old and hadn’t been worn in forever. She slipped the pump on her foot to see if it fit her still, and it did, like a dream. She smiled and gently threw the shoes so they landed on the bed, bouncing and clattering next to her dress. 

She walked back through her informal sitting lounge, which was strewn with piles of books on every surface. The mantelpiece, the end table, there were even a couple of piles rested on the floor, leaning against the large velvet blue sofa. Aswell as a couple of her sketchbooks thrown open with unfinished charcoal or ink scattered across the page in a hastily summoned drawing that had been the result of a muse of fire at the hands of quick inspiration. She walked past the sofa, and around to the three large French windows, the middle opened out onto a small concrete balcony, and the two other window frames either side were curved into the wall with a window seat each side. On cold winter’s day she adored to huddle up against the frosted glass and get utterly lost deep in in the pages of a good book. 

As it was fairly warm inside, the sun’s light and heat having been trapped in the bright room all day, she threw open every window, inviting the languid summer’s breeze spill in from it, dreamily caressing the room with the scent of the summer air, that smelt like fresh grass and wet greenery. The lazy breeze toyed with the sheer white fabric of her curtains, lifting them up and twirling them in a riotous affair from their previous strict confines at either side of the window seat, gently they lapped in the air, like the ripples of a lake did, folding onto the shore. She inhaled the cool draft that eddied itself inside with the gentlest of ease, closing her eyes and smiling as she took in the summer air’s scent. The gust of hot air ruffling her hair as it passed through. She longed for evenings such as these, slow, incomparable, frightfully blissful and full of such utter languor on her behalf. The record she had placed on the gramophone turntable earlier was spinning and twinkling out a song that seemed shockingly accurate in its words and title; summertime, By Ella Fitzgerald, rang out through the room, and she dared it to be as loud as possible. So the sound must’ve sparkled and drifted out over the front of the house due to her open windows. The melodic and wonderful voice sang in perfection along with the music….

“Summertime, and the livin' is easy  
Fish are jumpin' and the cotton is high  
Oh, your daddy's rich and your ma is good-lookin'  
So hush little baby, Don't you cry”

She sang softly along with Ella’s unbeatably pleasing voice, certain that her own could never match the rich timbre of the woman who sang the song. But she was so full of warming joy that she sang anyway, not caring who heard her, and if they thought she was no good. The man she loved professed he loved her back, and as a consequence, the elation was bursting out of her so excessively and rapidly that she didn’t want to contain it. 

She smiled as she located the book she misplaced earlier. Then stopped for a second to recall the memory that had been playing through her head all afternoon. Ever since it had occurred. She closed her eyes, having memorized it in all its perfect clarity. Wanting to enrapture it and engrain the warm feel of it onto her heart forever. 

“I want you.” He spoke in hushed tones, looking deep into her eyes before leaning in and kissing her lovingly, lips twisting against her own. 

 

She smiled wider at the recollection, before opening her eyes, looking down at the book she had selected in her hands. The Rose and the Nightingale by Oscar Wilde. Flipping over her favourite dog eared pages as she scanned the words. “Here at last is a true Lover,” said the Nightingale. “Night after Night I have sung of him, though I knew him not; night after night have I told his story to the stars and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth blossom, and his lips are as red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory.” She read, flipping the pages shut and smiling to herself as she walked back into the bathroom, pulling the bathroom door to so it was left a tiny bit ajar, so she could hear the music from the other room.

She turned off the flowing bathwater. Seeing the steam rise and uncurl into the cold bathroom air, taking the heavenly aroma of Lavender and vanilla with it. She stepped out of her robe and slipped under the hot water’s surface, soaking every inch of her skin that turned a soft pink due to the heat of the scorching water. She submerged for a second, before sitting back up, and resting her head on the lip of the bath, feeling water drip down her back, and over her eyelashes as she rested, plastering her hair back off her face, beads of water shimmering down her skin. 

She inhaled in plentiful ecstasy. Leaning back and peering out of the window, thinking what an astoundingly brilliant day it had been. She watched out of the small bathroom window as even more fiery orange light sizzled over the tops of the trees. She was reminded of an exert from the book she had lying beside her on the bathroom floor that summed up the light of the dying sun perfectly.

“It is pleasant to sit and watch the sun in his chariot of gold…”

And she rather likened the evening sun to exactly that, a chariot of fiery amber gold…

Yes. She thought with a smile. It had been an astoundingly brilliant day, indeed. 

 

 

 

~ 

 

 

 

Downstairs, in a room below her own. Lay Benedict. He was lying vertically on his large double bed, one arm lay behind his head, and the other twirled a red rose between his fingers, as he watched it idly with a languid smile upon his lips. He too, awash in the hazy yet wonderful details and memories of the dying afternoon.

 

That kiss. That woman. That smile… 

 

He thought happily to himself. Watching the rose he held in his hand as his fingertips brushed the soft velveteen petals, he smiled wider. Dizzy on the high flying elation that a profession of love could cause. 

Her skin, he thought to himself, was even softer and suppler under his touch, than that of the silky petals of a rose. 

After they had departed earlier in the afternoon, he had stood in a daze for a moment or two, before having to try and stifle the huge dazzling smile that broke out across his lips and the warm bursting feeling that spread throughout his entire body. He glided happily from the library and thought to himself that he’d rather like to catch the last glimpse of the sun before it plunged the light of day into an amber ball as it set beyond the horizon. He wandered lazily outside, not caring about his haggard appearance, as the sun was lighting its red tawny warmth across him, not leaving him the least bit inclined to find a jacket. His blue shirt was undone haphazardly across his collarbone, showing more skin than was proper for a gentleman. But, again, he let the setting orange light of day leave its memory on his pale skin, uncaring one shred for the propriety he should have showcased in regards to formal civilities of the age.

He walked alone, slowly, across the patio at the back of the house, where his surroundings transferred from the comforts of the furnished parlour, to the heavy warm nakedness of the garden as he left the house behind him. He tucked his hands in his pockets and made his way across the soft grass, which had been baked in the summer’s sun, so there was little chance he would track mud back inside when he walked back into the house. And he knew he should care about things like that, he was sure Mrs Jones wouldn’t take too kindly to his leaving muddy footprints on her pristine carpets, and as she was his host, he wanted to do nothing but display the utmost sense of courteous and respectful decorum. But in that minute, in that time and place. He really didn’t care at all. 

Libby. He had kissed, Libby. And it was everything he dreamed it would be. And, he had dreamt about kissing her many times, times too numerous in their count. He could’ve dropped onto his knee right there and then in that library and asked her to marry him. To sweep her up into his arms and promise her a life of prosperity, passion and pure unadultered happiness. But, he couldn’t. 

Not until he had done everything right that would allow him to happily get down on his knees and ask for her hand, but first. He had to put off loving her and wedding her until he could figure out how he would be allowed to by her brother and her parent’s.

He didn’t like thinking that there were obstacles in the way of him having the woman he loved, but, life rarely was so lazy and easy in its perusal of something worth having. And he would damn sure work hard to prove he was worthy of her. She was worth everything.

He was 27 years old. And he had never had so much as a by night fling, for want of Libby. Always had she enraptured him, and he was hard pressed to think of a moment before she had come into his life that he had enjoyed as much without the pleasure of knowing her. Nearly every laugh that left his lips, Libby was the cause of, every wide smile and every chuckle he cared to admit was hers. She could have. She could have all of him. And he wasn’t too entirely uncertain that all of him was already what she currently had. 

He also thought about other aspects of his life. His wealth for example. He was the Son of one of Britain’s most sought after book editors, Chief Editor in their offices in London, he earned more than £55,000 a year. He rarely travelled for work, save for an odd trip to New York or Paris. He had a reasonably large London townhouse just near Hampstead heath, with a small personal number of staff to keep it. Housekeeper, a butler, a housemaid and a driver. He had plenty of safe savings and stocks under his name. He wasn’t a betting man, he despised the sport, and the money he worked so hard to earn rested safely in bank accounts. And not in his pockets where he could fritter it away on drink or gambling, or excessive parties like most of his friends. The only hobby he was guilty of was spending far too much time with his ‘nose stuck in a book’ and not enough time spent ‘out in the world looking for a wife’ so his mother would always remind him…

He also liked to travel. That was his second guilty pleasure. Only, the thing was, he wasn’t the sort of man to feel guilty about pleasure. Not when he was watching the stars on a riverboat that was cruising down the River Nile, nor when he was walking aimlessly through the streets of Rome or Pouring through the finest bookshops Paris had to offer. And when he was off globetrotting and seeing all that other countries and cities on all far corners of the globe had to offer him, he didn’t feel the least bit guilty about his pleasures. 

The other thing he was certain he wasn’t, was ill tempered. Everyone who knew Benedict, knew that he was nothing but the perfect model of polite decorum and responsibility. He rarely lost his temper at anyone, unless they angered or irritated him to extreme lengths. He was placid and kind, and people who knew him, or have heard of him would remark upon his quiet charms and gentleman like behaviour. He never snapped at anyone. He didn’t even raise his voice to his staff. Whom he treated more like friends than employees. He gave them bonuses at Christmas, and two days off each week. They had not a bad word to utter about him, he treated them better than friends and family in their opinion. And His housekeeper, Mrs Stubbs, had known him since he was in the nursery as a tubby, black curly haired, blue eyed toddler. And then into the awkward stages of youth, through adolescence and into easy manhood as a wonderful kind hearted gentleman. From Infancy to maturity she had seen him grow. And she could not be any prouder of the man he had become. Between her and his mother, whom was ailing with hip problems, and whom he still went to visit every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon no matter how busy his workload that day, they watched over him with pride, and hoped he would soon find a lovely wife who shared in their pride at him. 

Benedict walked through Mrs Jones’s superbly well-kept shrubbery gardens, seeing all manner of flora and fauna. From honeysuckle, to daffodil. Bluebell to Hyacinth, and wisteria vine to lavender hedges, all which were neatly trimmed and clipped. And all of which filled the air with their sweet fragrance. He spied a rosebush at the far end of the path, which he wandered over too, and plucked one singular red rose from among the hundreds which were blooming. Lifting it to his nose, he inhaled, and the softly sweet aroma blossomed in his nostrils. 

“Ah, on what little things does happiness depend,  
I have read all that wise men have written,  
All the secrets of philosophy are mine,  
Yet for want of a red rose my life is made wretched.”

He recited in his head. He adored the works of Oscar Wilde. And he thought how appropriate that snippet of text was. He was in want of a rose himself, a perfect English rose whose beauty shone brighter and bloomed sweeter than any flower. He held it in his hands and examined it. Seeing such beauty and unrefined tenderness in its innocence. And his mind flip flopped back to the woman he had kissed earlier in the afternoon. And the beauty of the rose was infallible when in contrast to one of her smiles. 

He placed the short stemmed rose in his pocket, sensing he should go and bathe and dress before dinner. He made his way back over the lawn. Smiling softly to himself as he went. As he walked, a rhythmic melody reached his ears, and as he stopped and looked back to the house. Seeing that from the gardens where he was by the side looking over the front of the house and up to the drive, that three large windows were opened, from which the soft music drifted wonderfully over the grass to him where he stood under the oak tree, he could see sheer white curtains lap in the soft breeze that washed over him. He smiled. That was Libby’s room on the east wing of the house, near his own. Just above him.

He walked back over the lawn and to the back of the house, leaving the approaching evening warmth behind him. He walked back under the shade of the house, and through the empty conservatory, and into the foyer, crossing to the stairs. The door to Mr Jones’s study swung open just as Benedict started up the stairs. And Leo walked out.

“Ah, Benedict. There you are.” Leo spoke. 

Ben paused on the stairs and turned to face his friend, who had spoken quickly and hurriedly to him in a most frenzied manner.

“Something the matter, Leo?” Benedict enquired, stilling with nerves.

“No, not at all, it’s just I have Captain Phillips’s wife on hold, asking about dinner this evening. And I just remembered I have a book to lend to Libby, are you heading up to your room?”

“I am, yes. I thought I might bathe and change before dinner.” Ben offered kindly. Feeling the sticky clamminess of sweat sticking to the back of his shirt as he had wandered outside in the sun.

“You wouldn’t just drop this outside her door for me on your way up, would you?” 

He asked, handing Ben a thickly bound book, Ben smiled and nodded before Leo rushed back into the study. 

He turned and carried on up the stairs, placing the book on his bed. He’d take it up to her after he had bathed and redressed. He didn’t want to greet her in this sweaty dishevelled state. He had laid back on his bed, and was busy examining the rose.

He was just thinking over how soft the petals were, when he heard another soft jazz song erupt from above the floorboards in Libby’s bedroom over his head. 

He recognised the lusty thrum of the double bass and the illicit drawling voice of Billie Holiday as she sang out a soft song:

 

“I'm a fool to want you  
I'm a fool to want you  
To want a love that can't be true  
A love that's there for others too..”

 

He looked at the book that was sat on the end of his bed. Beckoning to him to be taken up. He thought for a second, before grabbing it and walking silently up the wooden stairs to her room. If she was in the bath, then what was the harm of leaving it in her lounge?

He got to her room, gently pushing open the door and hearing the music grow louder, the base notes making his entire being vibrate as Billie continued to sing.

 

“I'm a fool to hold you  
such a fool to hold you  
To seek a kiss not mine alone  
To share a kiss the Devil has known  
Time and time again I said I'd leave you  
Time and time again I went away  
But then would come the time when I would need you  
and once again these words I'll have to say…”

 

He walked quietly past the bathroom door to his immediate right, sensing how the air got warmer, and was scented like lavenders and vanilla, he smiled and closed his eyes. He told her she smelt delectable, and he felt a one sided smirk curl onto his lips as he knew in that moment he had won an argument that they weren’t even having. 

He closed his eyes and inhaled the heady scent that he knew would be clinging onto her skin for the rest of the evening. He knew it would so very tempting at dinner not to kiss her, and travel down to the succulent soft build of her neck, inhaling and kissing his way down, before raking his teeth over her scented skin in a possessive way and hearing her gasp his name as he lavished loving attention down on her skin. He opened his eyes again. Especially with those kinds of thoughts circulating in his head, Dinner would be very torturous tonight indeed, for Benedict. 

He silently glided past the door, lest any more impure thoughts enter his head. He walked into her sitting room to see the curtains billowing in the breeze, and the soft evening’s warmth and scent was all he could smell and feel. All he was able to hear was that wonderful soft melody ringing throughout the room and through his bloodstream. 

The room looked typically like Libby’s personal habits. The slightly disorganised style with books piled high as far as he could see, the vases of flowers that lay on the coffee table and the mantel, (crammed in amongst the books of course) and he saw that there were a couple of sketchbooks lay amongst the informal library she had collecting up here. He smiled, picking it up, feeling inquisitive as to what she had drawn, he knew she was an artist. But he had never seen any of her drawings before. 

He flipped through the heavy papered pages, seeing drawings of all varieties leap out of each one. There was one done of Leo, a self-portrait. In which he was smiling in a care free manner. And even the way she captured the slightly mischievous glint in his eye, or the slight twitch of his smirk that he so often wore on his lips was so accurate and wonderfully captured. And it was in seeing the drawing that made an idea spring into his head that he would have to remember to bring up later with her… he put the sketchbook back where he had found it, undisturbed and in exactly the same place in which he found it. he then remembered the book Leo had entrusted Ben to give to her.

He placed the book down on the centre of the blue sofa where she would be sure to see it, placing the single red rose atop it as he pulled it out his pocket. Smiling as he left it, he turned to leave the room. 

"I'm a fool to want you  
Pity me, I need you  
I know it's wrong, it must be wrong  
But right or wrong I can't get along  
Without you"  
I can't get along  
Without you..”

 

The jazz continued to play in low soft and loud melodies. The curtains continued to sway in the gentle summer breeze. But as Benedict turned to walk out of her door. His heart stopped. 

She had left the door ajar when she had gone in the bath, and she had a mirror on the wall adjacent to the bathtub. Because all he could see now, was Libby. Or more precisely, Libby stood up, with her back to the mirror as she stood in the bath. And all he could see was the wet slippery and pale expanse of her back, through which underneath the veneer and shimmering surface of her skin that was beaded with droplets of water, her shoulder blades rippled and moved as she stood. 

Ben swore his entire body was set alight. And he could’ve perished right there from the flames that consumed him. He had seen her earlier in the afternoon in a bathing suit, even in a dressing gown. But, nothing. Nothing was the equivalent to this kind of bare intimacy. He mouth parted and he realised with startling immediacy that he had to leave as he wasn’t the sort of man to spy lecherously on naked women. 

He tore his eyes away and slipped quietly down the stairs just as quietly as he had entered. Unheard and unseen, now with his heart hammering in his chest as he had caught a glimpse of her naked skin. And he was positively burning up with passion and shame because of the one sided glimpse. And he know knew for certain that seeing her at dinner tonight would be complete agony for him now. 

 

But. The breeze continued to float through the room softly. As did the Billie’s timbre voice. 

 

“But right. Or wrong I can't get along  
Without. you"  
I can't get along  
Without you…...”


	7. Vanity,Vivaciousness and Viciousness...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let Love sweep away our Hero and Our Heroine, but let one blonde bombshell try and stop them... 
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Libby sat at her dressing table, slowly examining the reflection of the passably agreeable girl sat across from her. She hoped she looked nicely made up, not composed with layer upon layer of dark eye makeup and heavily rouged lips like Cressida. She would flutter her dreadfully long eyelashes that were always clumped together with thick globs of mascara, and her dark eye shadow which she wore up to her brow made her look like she wanted herself to look like she had bare eye sockets like a skeleton. And her lips, would be rouged with a siren call of red that made her look like she was permanently pouting, and when she did smile, her lips would stretch out and glisten red (Libby didn’t like to be the one to point it out, but she often saw little red smears of it on her teeth when she smiled a little too wildly)

In conclusion. Libby did not look like the over made doll complexion that Cressida was sure to sport this evening. She didn’t have miles of grey eye shadow leading up to her bros, her eyes were not defined in black eye liner, and nor did she have pouting glistening lips. She had a few sweeps of mascara that helped enhance the terribly long fullness of her lashes, she had barely a sliver of white shimmer on her eyelids to make them stand out. She had a slightly dark scarlet on her lips (all across her lips. She didn’t fancy the pantomime dame pout that many women now adopted) and that was all she felt she needed. She knew she wouldn’t be the most stunning woman in the room this evening. No doubt Cressida would be ravished in fine silks and diamonds and make up to the nines, as would Captain Phillip’s wife, and as would her mother. (She was rather inclined to favour that the older women would adopt a less striking made up complexion, and instead opt for silk head scarfs or feather bands on their heads) but, that would be no match for the blonde Siren residing downstairs who was sure to look like a prim porcelain doll in comparison.

And this, this suited Libby just fine. She never felt she wanted her appearance to cause jaws to drop, she would rather stun someone with the contents of her head, and not with what she painted onto it.

She gave a meek smile to her reflection, before dabbing a few drops of her favoured Dior perfume behind her ears, on her wrists, and across her neck and collarbone. She placed in her pearl drop earrings, and crossed to her bed to throw off her dressing gown and slip on her silk dress.

It fitted her perfectly. It scooped quite low at her neckline, gathering in a balcony of dark silk, before gracefully flowing over her shoulders and down past her back and away into nothing but bare skin could be seen until her lower back, where it collected into a diamond of silk that contained the flowing shoulder straps from the back. It was quite slim on her waist and over her rear. The dress had one thigh length slice up her right leg, and a small silk train behind the back of it. As she looked in her mirror she felt she needed a little something more, so she slid on a dainty diamond bracelet. Happy with the way she looked, she bounced onto her bed in an ungraceful flop, and threw away her skirts to get to her bare ankles so she could pull them on. She bent her knees up as she put on each shoe, resting her right leg as she focused on the left, and when she was done, she stood on unsure and wobbly feet, before gliding across her carpeted room with the dress billowing behind her.

She crossed to her mirror, and stood to examine her full appearance, plus dress and shoes to give her the added height. And, now, she wasn’t a vain girl, it wasn’t in her nature to be. But she rather thought she looked ok.

She smiled to herself and walked back through to the sitting room to go downstairs, when she spotted a small book sitting in the middle of her sofa that she must have missed seeing earlier. Her brows tugged into a frown and she walked over to examine it. She saw that there had been tentatively placed upon the books cover, a small red rose. She smiled and lifted it to her lips, letting the silky petals brush across her mouth, before smelling its intoxicating scent.

She had a feeling she knew who the book was from, and she also knew who the flower was from too…

 

 

~

 

 

 

Benedict was sat on the edge of his bed, trying in earnest to do up his cufflinks. Sat in full dress save for his jacket, and bowtie, that hung loosely around his neck like a scarf. His hair was still a touch damp from his bath, he had shuffled a towel across the dark curls, but now they was dried into disarray, and curled and drooped over his frowning forehead as he continued to struggle with the blasted cufflinks.

He huffed aloud to himself, turning and twisting his arms in all sorts of directions on his knee as he tried in vain to succeed. Alas. Getting nowhere.

He was distracted however, thankfully, by a small and timid knock at his door.

“Come in.”

He frowned, not looking at the door assuming it was Leo to fetch him down early for a whiskey or two before the ladies joined them, and their esteemed guests. He was busy looking down at his wrists, that he didn’t see who was actually in the doorframe as they opened it.

His eyes could see a long tall expanse of red as he forced himself to look up, and the air in his room even smelt different. And felt different. It smelled all of a sudden like the most wonderful perfume he had ever caught the aroma of in his life. It was classic, yet sweet. But not overbearingly so. It was a soft, and genteel scent, unassuming really, but at the same time it invaded the room. But he adored it. (Most women’s perfume smelled like a bowl of rotten fruit glazed in sugar in his opinion) and the air felt warmer, and calmer, because suddenly he didn’t care about the cufflinks anymore. He now cared about the ravishing creature who stood in the doorway.

He cared about the sight of his Libby stood there, smiling that wonderful smile at him.

“I realise this is most untoward, me being in your room? But I just wanted to- are you alright? Do you need me to help you? Cufflinks can be tricky…”

she smiled, He nodded, astounded by how she looked. She wandered in, leaving the door a mere matter of millimetres ajar behind her.

She stood directly in front of him, fixing his shirt sleeves. Giving him all the time in the world to just look at her as she did. Her eyes looked blue and virtuous, framed by very long black lashes that swept upwards seductively. If she only knew she could just bat those eyes at him, and he would fall down on his knees and do anything to please her. Her lips rested gently in a smile, covered in dark red lipstick that made her mouth look ripe to kiss, like a juicy overbearing fruit on a tree. He wanted to explore, and nibble, and kiss the soft mounds of her lips with his. And he never wanted to stop doing so. His eyes took in the scarlet silk dress that swathed her body, clinging to her hips and over her waist in a way that reminded him how soft, fragile and small she could be. In body, he supposed, but never in spirit. He realised with trebled hunger that there was a gap in her dress through which he could see the peachy pale skin of her thigh as she stood, and he had to summon his hardest amount of force not the draw the two sides of silk apart and kiss up and up her smooth legs, and then carry on going until he got right to the very top of her thigh.

“There. Two pairs of hands are always better than one. So they say.”

She finished. Smiling as he realised both his sleeves were finished, the cufflinks were in. And now, he could definitely show her the ways in which two pairs of hands were always better than one.

Maybe it was her dress. Maybe it was the vivid colour of it that made her look pale and perfect, or maybe it was the fact he had kissed her that afternoon and he knew he wanted to do it many times again.

He gently, but quickly, reached out and took her hand. Tugging her body to his, and when she got close enough he let go of her hand. Reaching his arms around her. One on her lower back, and one on the back of her neck, as he pulled her atop him on the bed.

“Benedict!” she managed to yelp out his name, before he moaned softly and kissed her. Hard. His hands – they couldn’t help themselves – tracked down her warm bare back and smoothed the creases in her dress away. Pooling at the curve where he back met her bottom, and her spine curved wonderfully.

And he kissed her. Hard. Yet so wantonly and lovingly that she couldn’t pull away and protest at him for his inappropriate behaviour. She could only dread what would happen if anyone were to walk in, and see them horizontally and passionately reclined on one another. And when Ben did swerve his lips away from hers, she found she was so wrapped up in his kiss, that they had subtly shifted so he now leaned over her, instead of her on top of him, and now he was looming over her with passion. And breaking away from her lips left Libby feeling empty and cold. And Ben wasn’t all so sure he wouldn’t kiss her again in but a few moments.

“You have no idea what you do to me...”

She smiled.

“If there’s anything I’ve learned from books. Is that you cannot pen, in all its entirety, the ever changing form, of love.”

She said, Ben was so bust staring at her scarlet lips that he wanted to kiss again, and her darling blue eyes, that he forgot she had even spoken.

“Very wise words. From a very beautiful woman.”

He spoke softly, hands carting through her hair. She blushed and looked down. And god help him, Ben thought in that moment that she looked like one of the most strikingly attractive creatures to ever grace god’s earth.

“You exaggerate on the beautiful behalf.” She teased, Ben cocked his head at her.

“I really think you could stand to be corrected on that point, Ms Jones.” He purred, leaning down and kissing her again.

 

Libby’s stomach flipped fantastically in her stomach, as one. He was smiling so wolfishly, she felt she was red riding hood about to devoured in her red dress by the fiendish wolf. But as his lips met hers again, the analogy went straight out of her head. And so it was, that she let herself be kissed by him.

She smiled into his embrace, so the both of them could feel the tug of humour that showcased itself on her mouth.

“This really does feel so utterly inapt, Benedict…”

She whispered against his smile, which mirrored her own as they kissed. Her speech was interrupted by the slow, soft tug of his lower lip capturing her own. And when he pulled away, he smiled even wider, still bracing over her as his body pressed her into the mattress so he could feel every dip and curve of her. Every absence and every perfect soft filled space. Filled by the wonderful supple climes of her body. In all its glory.

“You know. When I kiss you. A kiss so raw with passion, between two people is supposed to leave one with not quite so many thoughts in her head…”

Interrupted again, they both were, by the way the tip of his tongue dipped softly into the corner of her mouth. She moaned quietly in a very feminine and wanting way. The noise pulled Benedict in, dropping him into a whirlpool of heady, erotic and lustful appetite.

“…And if you do still have the capacity to vocalise sensible thoughts; that proves I’m not doing my job correctly. I suppose that means I’ll have to try harder…”

He smirked from his lips onto her own. His hands itched to smooth and stroke over her silk clad form. But, the stick in the mud that was his tiny internal voice of reason and propriety told him they both had to be downstairs and presentable in a matter of mere minutes. But, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t kiss her some more…

“If this isn’t you trying harder, I’d hate to be shown what that is…”

She smiled sarcastically.

“Oh my darling, it would be nothing short of an undignified pleasure to show you my trying harder…”

Ben promised. Pulling back and seeing her pale skin as it flushed attractively, he felt her hands run through the back of his hair, and loved how the tip of his nose skimmed along hers as their breath furnace each other’s lips with heat.

Behind them, unnoticed to both the blooming and amorous young lovers. The door had been left open an inch or two when Libby had come in. If only she had clicked it shut….

Cressida was walking from her room to the stairs to head down to the lounge and gate-crash the men whilst they had their drinks. Hoping to win over at least the affections of one if not both of the men. She was young, and she had everything going for her, so, why shouldn’t she make the most of their company? She ran a hand through the back of her coiffed hair, making sure she looked presentable and striking. But, she paused as she heard low rumbles of laughter and …giggling… female giggling, coming from Benedict’s room that was just off the staircase in the east wing of the house. With her curiosity piqued, she wandered over where she could see a slice of drying light strike across the landing hallway from Benedict’s bedroom window. And what she saw made her darkened brows raise nearly to her blonde hairline, and her red lips puckered into an ‘o’ shape like a fish gasping for breath.

Benedict and Libby.

They were reclined on the man’s bed, the man himself pressing her into the mattress as they kissed in a manner that strictly decided that they weren’t just ‘good friends’ as the lying little wretch had told her - to her face - that afternoon. She felt a pang of enviable fury flash through her body. What did the miserable little country bumpkin know about kissing a man? Cressida had a hunch she had never once gotten her bed sheets wrinkled, let alone shared a kiss with a man. And here she was, stretched under one of London’s most handsome and wealthy bachelors. She watched as they smiled and spoke soft words in close heated proximity that she couldn’t hear. She suddenly felt her enviable fury grow into the latter. Fury. She was furious. She had been angling after Benedict for over a year now. Setting her cap for the ridiculously rich man after they had first been introduced at a Party in some London ballroom long ago. She had worked hard to secure an invitation to be near him at all costs. And then the uncivilised likes of the loud mouthed and ugly, unusual, and snivelling little Ms Jones had to go and snatch him away into her filthy hands.

Well. She thought to herself, in a fit of rescuing her emotions from the brink of ugly jealousy, Benedict will soon realise a woman like her has no place with him. She is below him in every sense. Class, wealth and intelligence. And definitely – for one thing – experience. Cressida had opened her bed to many men on more than a few occasions. And she knew with confidence, what men like Benedict, liked. And she failed to agree that Libby could provide as much pleasure for the man as she could. Why, the conniving mouthy trollop probably didn’t know how lovemaking worked. She smiled to herself at that. She realised with a winningly smile, that she herself, was far more superior than the inexperienced virgin when it came to satisfying a man.

Cressida’s gaping expression quickly turned into a buoyant smirk.

She doubted that anyone else in the house knew of their enflamed and sordid little affair.

 

Except her. She knew….

She thought to herself with a wicked red smile as she walked quietly away.

 

 

~

 

 

 

After Benedict and Libby managed to tear themselves away from one another’s addictive lips, Libby explained she would go back upstairs and fix her lipstick, some of which had been smeared onto Ben’s own in a dark smudge of scarlet red (she wasn’t too entirely uncertain there was a small stain on his neck too. She was careful to avoid his crisp white collar.) She proposed to notion of them arriving separately would be sure to quell any suspicion. Ben just smiled very widely at her, understanding her desire for secrecy, and he crushed kiss lips to hers again. Quickly. Like a starved man, he couldn’t get enough of the small snippet of a taste he had quickly acquired for her. And so, not before a fleeting and frenzied clash of a kiss, they parted.

And it wasn’t until ten minutes had passed, and Ben had wandered slowly downstairs in a placid little enclosure of loving happiness, masked by a polite smile as he didn’t want to let his fizzling and stirring insides show through in his expression, both participants in the affair (had, in mute understanding) wished to remain private about its existence until their situations improved. And there he was, sat in the informal lounge, a small whiskey sour in his hand, chatting frivolously with Leo about nothing at all of matter, when his vision in scarlet swept through the door, and he lost his breath, and fell in love all over again.

Even a mere matter of minutes spent away from him was torture, Libby thought, as she crossed the lounge door, her eyes landing straight on his as his lean form was strewn civilly across an armchair, relaxed and with a drink in hand, she saw his cerulean eyes shine and gleam straight to her, like two brightly lit windows in the dark. They beamed and radiated warmth at her, whilst his expression was expertly giving nothing away at all but a domestic little tug of a smile.

She moved into the room, seeing Leo smile, as a reminder to her fuzzy over loved brain that there was a world beyond the wonderful handsome man in the tux, who she had kissed earlier that day, and been in love with for many uncounted years beforehand.

“My, but Libs, you look like a proper prim young miss!”

Leo exclaimed, in mock surprise, ribbing his little sister, catching her hand as she walked past him, with a smile, to get a drink, and seeing her diamond bracelet slide up her thin arms as she moved around him.

“Always so courteous towards women brother dear. Now we know why you aren’t married...”

She joked back sarcastically, getting to the drinks trolley and pouring herself a lemon soda, and gin.

“Oh, how you wound me with that wit of yours, dear sister…” Leo joked, sliding down in his chair, feigning immediate crippling illness.

“I have a feeling your wit has wounded many a man. Many a young suitor perhaps?”

Ben smiled, leaning around to see her behind him, she gave him a smile that they both knew meant more.

“How well you know me, Benedict.” She smiled, crossing past him, so as he got a lazy wave of her wonderful scent. He had to tense his body to stop himself from leaping up and kissing her hard again.

She sat down on the large sofa beside Benedict, whose chair was next to Leo’s.

“Please don’t tell me we’ve exhausted all avenues of conversation from here on out and through dinner? Or are we to talk about how the stock market is faring, them sit miserably looking into our French onion soup with nothing else to say to one another?”

Leo asked, taking out a cigarette case, placing one between his lips, and smoking it.

“Impossible.”

Libby offered.

“We haven’t even got three days into the week yet. Give us a chance to completely exhaust our decorum and sense of morality first.” She winked.

Leo pulled a childish face.

“I don’t think we’ve quite got to the exhausted point of every topic of conversation, just yet…”

Benedict offered, gladly accepting a cigarette from Leo, and lighting up. Libby watched as rhythmic curls of smoke wandered lazily from in-between his lips.

Libby reclined on the sofa, pulling her legs up, and leaning back onto the pillows, so she couldn’t see neither Ben nor Leo. As she was too tempted by the way her eyes wanted to focus on Benedict’s cupid’s lips, that she didn’t trust her lust not to want to lean over and embrace him again. She placed her left arm up and over her head, lazily regarding the clock as it just chimed eight from the mantel with soft unassuming chirps.

Ben watched her moan softly as she stretched, reeling her limbs across the sofa so she was decadently and languorously laid out across the pillows. He watched as one arm circled up and rested atop her head, angled to droop off the end of the sofa, resting on the edge, and he watched that bracelet slide up her arm again. The arm that he wanted to kiss his way up, across to the border of her shoulder, and he wanted her to wrap around his body as he kissed her.

So. The two men smoked, and Libby lounged about on the sofa in plentiful, but happily unspoken silence for a moment or two, listening as Julie London melodically filled the gaps of their hush with her smoky pleasant voice that tantalised the ears pleasantly.

“Ben.”

Leo spoke at last shattering the silence.

“How was your recent trip back to Egypt? Did you do the River cruise again?”

At this, Libby twisted around, resting her chin on her arms as she contorted her body to face him, elbows bent as she gazed at Ben.

“I want to hear everything! I adore Egypt. I’m longing to go.”

She moaned so happily with a smile. Ben smiled at that, he saw the unveiled lust for culture and travel, and new cities and lands, gleam wonderfully and spiritedly in her eyes. In that moment, that gleam made him yearn, and strive, and dream to become the man to sate her lust for travel and exotic new places. – His brain also jotted down in a filthy footnote, that he wanted to sate any type of lust she came across…

“Egypt was wonderful. I suppose that’s why I keep going back…”

Ben smiled, eyes flitting to Leo for a second, before merrily focusing on Libby once more.

“It always the same things you have to do in Egypt. Whenever you go. Which is see the great pyramids of Giza. But not on the clinical and loveless tourist guides. The best way is to find a local with a camel and go at it that way. They really know the better routes that will, never fail to take your breath away, every time. Every time I’ve been, that’s the way I’ve done it. And every time the power of it makes me giddy with appreciation and awe.”

Benedict spoke lovingly, extinguishing is cigarette, careful not to get any ash on the unblemished white carpets.

Ben saw that both Libby, and Leo were enraptured by his story.

“And the Nile?”

Libby pressed. Ben nearly leaned over and kissed her then out of sheer humility. Her hunger and quest for travel was one of the things he loved so dearly about her. Never did he want her to stop being quite so inquisitive and curious about every aspect of life. He was very aware that a large smile was surfacing on his lips.

“A steamboat is always the one and only way to do the Nile.” Ben spoke assuredly. “Best to start from Cairo, up by the Mediterranean Sea, Port of Faud. And then from there, you go down, through Upper Egypt, and on into the Sudan. That is, if you follow the White Nile, the river that runs all the way down through to the Sudan, The Blue Nile heads east into Ethiopia. But I follow it down to southern Sudan, and then make my way across to Kenya.”

“It sounds wonderful!”

Libby breathed, pained of having never been abroad in her life. The farthest away she had gone from home, was a school trip to Brighton when she was an adolescent. She looked lost in wonder. And her face was all smiles and big dreamy blue eyes.

“And they always say the best time on board a river boat, is at sunset. Apparently, that’s Egypt and the Nile at its most beautiful under the scrutiny of a harsh monsoon sunset. But I disagree. The best time, is when it’s a velvety black night, and the stars are out and clear. I used to wander up onto the deserted top deck for hours and hours. Sometimes even til the sun rose. And the moon was so bright, you could read by it. It’s utterly, wonderful. Quiet, lethargic, peaceful. It’s worth the entire painstakingly hot trip just for that one night under those stars.”

Ben spoke, smiling as he recalled fondly the feel of the hot summer air, and the bright incomparable truth of sheer starlight.

“Lib’s is positively itching to travel abroad.” Leo beamed.

“Yes. So you cannot let mother marry me off to a boring old Bachelor who wants to hide away forever in his Kensington townhouse!”

Libby pleaded to her brother, who smiled easily.

“Don’t worry….” Ben spoke confidently.

“You won’t.”

He spoke softly. Libby turned to look at the smiling man. His eyes held such serious intent, she had to force herself to breathe under their glance. The fact he had just spoken those words that sounded eerily like a promise to her…

Leo was oblivious to what those words really meant. But she wasn’t, she was, as everyone, including herself were inclined to point out, no ordinary fool.

She loved him.

She couldn’t believe it had taken all these years and uncovered feelings to realise that.

She loved Benedict.

Completely. Everything she had, and would ever have, she would gladly surrender to him, and for him. Heart, body, soul, mind. He could have it all. She didn’t care. And she adored the thought of belonging so wholly to this genteel, handsome and wonderful man, she adored it so much, it nearly made her heart combust from happiness.

They were all jerked from their separate thoughts as a familiar and completely unwelcome figure made herself known in the doorway. She had a habit of making grand, (unwanted) entrances into parties.

“Am I interrupting?”

Chirped Cressida sweetly.

All the inhabitants of the room, steeled themselves for a very agonising evening now she had arrived…

~

 

 

 

 

Libby tried not to let her previously sunny disposition drop, but as the Blonde sneered at her dress, after only being stood in the doorway for all of two seconds. Libby thought against it, and let her smile drop so slightly.

“Evening Cressida. You look... Wonderful.” Libby lied through gritted teeth.

And she partially hated the fact that she wasn’t all entirely lying. The woman’s sense of dress was sordid, but very strikingly elegant. For tonight, she had forgone the pristine white and silver dress. And selected a long black dress to swathe her stick figure in. It cut away at one shoulder, baring one arm, while the other was clothed in black silk. And there was a long slit in the dress at the front, which showed both her legs as she stood, and the large black heeled shoes she wore on her feet. She had adorned her body in as much gold jewellery as was possible. Large gold bracelets wound around her thin wrists, huge chandelier earrings fell from her lobes, and a big thick gold necklace decorated her neck, the neckline of her dress, scooped sordidly low so as the tops of her breasts were bared. Over one shoulder she also wore a large fur coverlet, thrown recklessly lazily over her shoulder without care. It probably cost hundreds, but Cressida sported the fine fur as if she would sneer, stroke it lovingly, and say; “Why? This old tattered thing? With a wink. Her makeup, was, as Libby had predicted, harsh and arresting as soon as you so much let your eyes wander ever so slightly in her general direction. Dark eye shadow under the frame of black harsh eyebrows. Aswell as too heavily rouged cheeks and lips. Her hair was also curled into a fluffy blonde array of coiffed curls. In true fashion of the 20’s age that was raging through magazines everywhere.

She smiled, fluttering her eyelids down in a – hopeless – attempt at wanting to appear modest. But the woman walked over and joined her on the armchair closest to the sofa, adjacent to the two men who sat the other end of the room to her. Like she was yearning to make sure both of them had gotten a proper good long look at her.

“You look wonderful too, Elizabeth. Your gown looks so adorable on you. It really is quite sweet.”

Cressida gleamed through a dark red smile. Libby just accepted the half compliment half insult with a stiff smile. Trying to ignore the patronising way she spoke to her, like the way one speaks to a five year old. And Cressida knew that too. She was dehumanising her to a child, while placing herself as every inch the scandalous woman.

“And I hope you bathed too. I don’t think Captain Phillips desires to sit next to a woman who smells like a pond all evening!” She laughed to herself. Leo smiled, rigidly. As did Benedict. Both men wishing to be polite even though they both very much were willing her to shut her god awful mouth.

 

Libby, yet again, adopted a stiff smile, rising from her seat and purposely turning her back on the awful chit.

“Another drink anyone?” she ground out.

“Here, I’ll give you a hand.” Benedict offered, standing as she walked past him. She might have imagined it, but as two of his fingers reached out and subtly grazed the skin of her wrist, she felt hot and suddenly lost all her breath.

They walked to the drinks cabinet together, Libby pouring herself another lemon soda and gin (heavier on the gin this time now a certain blonde abomination was in the room) Ben watched her as she inflexibly ground her teeth, pouring her drink and taking a fast swig of it. Before closing her eyes and exhaling.

“Ignore her.” Benedict whispered. Slyly letting his hand cover hers on the table top, winding his fingers through her own. She looked up at him, smiling slightly less unyieldingly now. The smile seemed more, warm, less irritated.

“Believe me when I say this is me trying.” She whispered back, holding up her drink.

“Then play her at her own game. Take a dig back at her Jones. Use that razor wit of yours.” Ben smiled, close to her ear so as no one else would hear. They could hear Leo and Cressida chatting idly behind them.

“I have to be courteous, and polite. I’m her host.” Libby offered painfully, so wishing that wasn’t the case.

“Every word that has passed her lips aimed at you has been an insult. If you don’t fight back at her, then I will.” Ben growled hotly.

“You wouldn’t?!” Libby hushed.

“Oh I would, darling. I would take much delight in doing so.” he promised with a smile that suddenly bucked up Libby’s courage, (and made her cheeks blush pink)

Ben watched as she stiffened her spine, and closed her eyes for a moment before walking back over.

“So. Cressida.” Libby spoke, taking the bull by the horns. Ben smiled as he poured his drink.

“We never got on to discussing how your Uncle is faring?” Libby smiled sweetly. Reaching for a cigarette. Cressida watched her, twitching her head before she smiled.

“He has taken up residence in Scotland, awful place. I can’t even stand to go and visit him. He lives in a drafty moss ridden, damp old castle. I cannot fathom anything worse! He comes to London occasionally, and I visit when he does. He was none to empathetic in regards to Poor Lesley’s untimely death. He never approved of the union. But, I guess he didn’t know true love when he saw it. It is truly devastating to have him gone so unexpectedly.”

Cressida moped falsely. Everyone who was anyone, knew that Cressida had nought in the world but her uncle. He parents died when she was weeks old in a car accident. Supposedly the Cowper’s were such lovely quiet people. Never did anyone have a bad thing to say about them. But as Cressida was packed off to her only living relative, the middle aged uncle of whom she spoke of, she was raised in partial solitude, and as soon as she reached early womanhood, she had already given her parent’s loving repute a bad name. She drank, heavily, and partied in the same careless manner. The gossip vine of London couldn’t go one week, without hearing whose bed she had hopped into next. Libby favoured she enjoyed the attention – however immoral it was – as she had spent a childhood being ignored by her only relative. Who, if he had just shown her the least inclination of favourability, possibly would have made her less of a socially wicked, loose woman of morals with a cruel tongue, and more of a kind hearted figure as opposed to an attention grabbing girl who was dressed remarkably like a grown woman.

The only reason The Jones’s put up with having Cressida in their home, was the fact that they had been close friends with her late parents. Both feeling that Cressida had undoubtedly ruined the once good name of Cowper once and for all. Libby remembered giggling as her father used a quote from Nathaniel Hawthorne’s, the scarlet letter. “The scarlet letter was her passport into legions where other women dared not tread.” Just like Hester Prim and her red letter ‘A’ Cressida was using her grief and want of attention to be what other women were warned never to become. A Disreputable Pariah.

Libby nodded in sympathy.

“Losing a loved one can be devastating…” She interjected.

“Grief is a powerful emotion. I can only pray I may find a willing man to soothe my broken heart.” She moaned. Angling her brown eyes at Benedict. Who blinked unaffectedly back at her, with a terse expression.

Libby felt the only true words in that statement was the fact that she was praying on unwilling men.

“What about you, Elizabeth? Have you any man lingering on the horizon?” Cressida asked, swinging her leg as she sat, looking like she was very much enjoying herself.

“Please, call me Libby, Cressida. And no. no, there’s no one on the horizon as of yet. But I’m sure my mother will work hard on changing that.” She smiled.

“I heard a rumour in London that you were engaged to a Cambridge man, that, Sebastian Waterhouse boy. Rumour has it the two of you made love in his rowing boat on the river Cam.” Cressida sneered. Watching Benedict very closely as the words finished leaving her lips.

Leo spat out his drink. Benedict’s fists and jaw clenched. Libby smiled and laughed.

“It is exactly what you say, Cressida. A rumour. That’s not true. He proposed, but I never accepted him.” she laughed.

“And I certainly never did anything untoward with Sebastian in his rowing boat, we had a picnic, and that’s as far as the story goes I’m afraid. Its petty gossip.”

“That’s not the only rumour circulating in regards to yourself, in London. There are many more.” She smiled, lecherously.

Libby blinked prettily and cocked her head, smiling.

“I’m intrigued.” She offered.

“It’s also been said that you wish to enter into an affair with Jeremy Grey, and that you were being seduced by Emery Thornton, who set his cap for you.”

“Whom on earth is starting all these false rumours?” Libby smiled.

“No one can be sure. But you’re quite the popular candidate up for discussion this season.”

“Aren’t I the lucky one?” Libby spoke coolly, exhaling smoke.

Benedict’s whole body felt so tense he really did think he would rupture a vein soon.

At that moment, thank Christ (thought Ben) Libby’s mother decided to grace the room with her presence. Mrs Jones was a woman who you could tell, used to be a prime beauty in her youth. With eyes as blue as that of her children’s, and hair that was just as thick and chestnut red, much like Libby’s. Tinged with a natural dusk of red when the light struck it. Only hers was streaked with swirls of grey that made her look dignified and refined in her age. Comfortable at it, rather than running from it like most middle aged women did. She wore a loose gown of plum velvet, with a large black headband around her hair, deep red lipstick on her lips, and a loose sheer throw about her shoulders, as she swept quickly into the room.

“Leo straighten your bowtie, Libby, lease extinguish that cigarette before our guests arrive. We don’t want their first impression of you to be that you smoke like a chimney.”

Libby ground her teeth, in semi mute annoyance, stubbing out the cigarette, and placing a breath mint in her mouth from the little bowl in the middle of the table. Leo bade as his mother instructed aswell, fixing his bowtie to a neat horizontal line on his neck.

“I agree. It’s a most filthy habit except when alone.” Cressida sneered. Libby tried hard not to let her blood reach boiling point.

“The Phillip’s are bringing their son, Frederick. Lovely boy. Wealthy of pocket. DO try and behave like a lady when he is around, Elizabeth. And DON’T say anything too intelligent.”

“Why, is he strictly simple minded?”

“Libby!” Mrs Jones chided. To which Libby rolled her eyes.

“Or is that how I am to act in his presence, senseless and inane? Men don’t like women who have brains in their skulls. Heaven forbid! No! We are to sit prettily and discuss curtains and niceties…”

“Lord, why did you give me a daughter with such a crass mouth?” Mrs Jones prayed to the ceiling furiously.

Benedict and Leo were having to take large gulps of drink to hide their smiles.

At which point, Parker glided into the doorframe, and loudly announced

“Captain Phillips, Mrs Phillips, and their son, Mr Frederick Phillips have arrived, Ma’am.”

“Very good, thank you Parker. You may show them in.”

At which point, Libby leaned forwards on the sofa.

“Does Frederick Phillips look intelligent Parker?”

“Libby! Hush your mouth, I implore you.” Mrs Jones grit out. Smiling, elbowing her daughter in the shoulder as they stood and greeted their guests into the room.

Libby winced from the elbow blow her mother had delivered to her, but kept her easy pretty smile as three people walked into the room.

Captain Philips was a charming looking man, with twinkling brown eyes and a mop of fast greying hair. He was tall and held and carried himself in a manner that was strictly military like. Mrs Phillips was just as pleasant looking, with long dregs of dark honey blonde hair, which shone with her green eyes and kind smile. She wore a bottle green dress that only enhanced her emerald eyes. Their son, a younger looking, severe faced man, had dark brown eyes like his fathers, but they shone darker, more malicious. He had trimmed dark brown hair and a neat moustache decorating his upper lip, which moved when he twitched his smile. He looked about the same height, build and age as Leo. Deep In his Late 20’s.

“Captain, and Mrs Phillips. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance again. May I introduce Cressida Cowper? Our humble house guest.”

Cressida had stayed sat, winking slyly at Frederick, who smiled back at her with the same amount of lecherous and ambiguous manner. Libby rolled her eyes. Was any man safe around Cressida?

“Benedict Cumberbatch, a very close friend to the family, His father owns the biggest publishing house in London.”

Benedict nodded at the three guests, and smiled his most charming smile, Libby thought.

“And my son, Leonard Jones, and My daughter, Elizabeth. Libby for short.”

Frederick nodded politely at Leo, but advanced forwards and placed a kiss on the back of Libby’s hand. Benedict’s smile tightened, and he had to fight hard to resist the urge to punch the man. (And Benedict was never inclined to acts of violence) but seeing a stranger place is lips anywhere on her made his bones ache with anger. And indeed warranted some form of hostility.

“It’s certainly delighting to make your company, Libby.” Frederick purred. Scanning over her body with his eyes.

Benedict’s mood soured, He realised that tonight’s dinner was going to be torturous. As, one, he would have to watch this oaf flirt with the unprofessed love of his life all night, and two, he had to see her look utterly ravishing all night, an fall prey to the hungry look in Frederick Philips dark brown eyes. Yes. Torture was a perfect word to describe the mood he would be feeling all evening…

 

 

~


	8. Notoriousness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let us see our Heroine approached and chased by another suitor, and our Hero watching angrily from the side-lines, as well as a big secret threatened by certain people.... One of whom we don't suspect....

Dinner was, on the whole. A riotous affair of clashing’s between unspoken professions, and snide sideswipes hurled at each other, all whilst under the charade of trying to be polite. It was safe to say there were, mixed, reviews of the evenings circulating throughout the minds of those at the dining table…

Libby was trying in earnest to shrink away and avoid attracting the more than interested party of Frederick Phillips, who came onto her a little too strongly. 

Benedict, was trying his hardest to ignore Cressida’s foot that spent most of the evening snaking up his calf under the table, all the while trying to send daggering glances when Frederick would smile and be charming towards his Libby. Another thing that Benedict wasn’t, was possessive. But he had to watch the woman he had loved for ten years avoid the flirtatious spewing’s of that witless oaf, and it was just about launching his blood pressure through the roof. And she was obviously trying her damned hardest to put him off, but instead of being swayed by her fierce tongue, wit and manner. He seemed attracted to it. He was surprised his teeth didn’t crumble to dust, he had spent most of the evening clenching his jaw so tightly. 

Leo was wondering why Benedict’s vein on his neck was standing out angrily, and why on earth he seemed so terse and tense…

Cressida was wondering who she would snag as the first suitor to welcome into her bed. 

“So. I hear you’ve had quite the many proposals from many keen young boys…” Frederick spoke. Halfway through the main course of bavette. Libby smiled politely, slicing her steak fiercely before shoving it in her mouth so she was forced not to talk. 

She nodded as she was chewing, then swallowed quickly as Frederick waited patiently for an answer. 

“Yes. Four this year. Two in the year before.” She smiled quickly, sipping on her wine. 

“Six proposals. Do I take it from that you are the reputed catch of the season as they say you are in London?” 

She coughed into her wine glass, snorting nearly, in a way that earned her a shirt tempered look from her mother.

“Pray tell what rumours of me, are, circulating on the London scene?” she asked timidly. Her voice a little wounded from the drink travelling at an unusually fast speed down her oesophagus. 

Frederick smiled, leaning close to her, his knee touching hers under the table. Libby had to try very hard to flinch away too suddenly. 

“Only that you’re quite the rare beauty, and that you have a very stern tongue…” He smiled.

She had to force her stomach not to twist and turn at the way he purred the word tongue, and especially the way he leaned too close for her liking, his hot breath brushing the tip of her ear. Benedict wanted to tear him away from her, company be damned. He didn’t want the lecherous yob near her any longer. 

Libby cleared her throat calmly (more calmly than she felt) “Well.” She started “I don’t know about the beautiful part, but, the second part of that statement is true. Famously my tongue has got me into one too many mishaps in the past.” She smiled, continuing with dinner, and trying her best to shy away once again.

“I bet it has.” Frederick purred. Libby just knew he meant that in an inappropriate and ignoble way. 

She licked her lips in a panicked way, seeing how Frederick’s eyes watched her movements. She looked away down the table.

“So Frederick, what brings you back to Oxfordshire? I understand you’re here on business?” Mr Jones interjected. Libby made a mental note in that moment to thank her father generously somehow for the diversion of conversation away from her. 

“Well. Business and pleasure…” Frederick spoke repugnantly, eyes roving over to Libby as his knee brushed hers once more. She swallowed three gulps of wine loudly. A starling noise emitted from Benedict’s plate as the cutlery scratched the porcelain with a loud and forceful squeak. He coughed quietly and apologised as he realised that all eyes at the table were on him now. He blushed a tad pink and sipped his drink.

-Mrs Jones couldn’t understand for the life of her why all the startling noises were being made from the pair of them this evening-

“I wanted to oversee some of the car auction houses down here, and, scout out the local beauties of the countryside…” he flattered towards Mrs Jones and Cressida, who both fluffed their hair and smiled, flattered at the man’s complimenting attention. 

“You’re in the car business?” Mr Jones asked. 

“Wouldn’t care two figs about the army, much unlike his father…” Mrs Phillips insisted, with a light-hearted smile. 

“Yes, I am in the car business. I help the top auction houses in the country sell and purchase old and vintage models, even modern new ones sometimes. Speaking of which, I couldn’t help but notice the red Stoddard Dayton outside? A favourite of yours Mr Jones?” he asked politely, but Libby gathered from the way his knee was invading her own under the table, that he was a man who was anything but minus present company. That and the scandalous things he had poured into her ears in hot whispers all evening. 

“The Dayton is my car.” Leo spoke, having no patience for seeing the unbearable boor try and wriggle his way into his kid sister’s knickers. 

“It’s a lovely model, 1911?” Fred asked, curiously.

“The very one.” He said shortly, still smiling. So no one (his mother namely) could accuse him of being rude. 

“In my opinion. There’s no car that handles quite as well as the Stoddard. Except for maybe the 1920’s Harley Earl Cadillac. The handling on that is divine.”

“I really must take you for a ride in the Dayton sometime.”

“I’d like that very much, and please. I insist you must come down to our showroom and try out any car you please… It’s the least I could do for the wonderful hospitality.” He smiled. Leo twitched a short tempered smile right back at the man. 

“What about you, benedict? Do you have any interests in cars?” Frederick spoke, looking to the man sat opposite him.

“I’m afraid I do not. So long as it has four wheels and a steering wheel, I couldn’t care what model or year it’s from.”

Frederick laughed.

“Good god man. Are you that medieval? I think my grandfather had the same manners as that towards cars.”

“Then he was a sensible man who had his life’s priorities in timely order.” Benedict smiled. Fred laughed again at him. Benedict continued eating lest he stop imaging strangling him in his head, and indulge a real life fantasy. 

“I’m afraid on that point, I do have to agree with you Benedict...” Libby spoke, smiling at him to release his tense mood. Which it did, slightly. He felt calmed by her smile. 

“You’ve got to be joking?” Frederick asked with a smile, his facial hair jostling as he smiled.

“There are more important aspects of life rather than what cars your drive, or what sized house you live in...” Libby started. 

“Such as?” Captain Phillips asked, entertained by the woman who had more intelligence in her head than he had witnessed as girls similar to her age, only interested in dresses, gin and parties. 

“Well. This is an incredibly underdeveloped and admittedly lopsided point I’m about to make, I admit. But. Books. Literature, The arts, surely the philosophy and meaning of the written word, and elegant painting bears some priority over what motor vehicle you own?” 

“How so?”

“Well. Say, In a hundred years’ time, people look back on this age and explore the music, the writing, the novels, the culture and the fashions of today, how would that compare to the rusty old piece of metal junk with four wheels attached to it?”

Captain Phillips smiled. She really was a rare one, The Elizabeth. Clearly there was more sense than sawdust residing in her head…  
She looked over to Benedict, who smiled.

“A fine argument, Miss Jones.” Captain Phillips laughed. Mr Jones, and Leo smiled at her. Mrs Phillips tried to supress her large smile. Fred carried on eating. Cressida took a sip of her drink, thinking how asinine and loud mouthed Libby always sounded. 

“As always, Elizabeth, we can count on you coming up with the most notorious comment of the evening…” her mother groaned. 

Libby felt a pang of shame. Even when she tried to passionately defend what she loved most, even then, that was considered crass and rude by her mother. She wondered if she would ever make a choice that would please her. 

“No. No! I think that was very fairly argued!” Mrs Phillips suggested, smiling at the young woman who she could see was downhearted by her own mother. Libby smiled at that, as Eliza, Parker and Simpy came in to clear away the main course. 

Libby let her plate be taken away, and decided to hereafter tame her tongue and stay, ‘as silent as the grave’ as the metaphor goes… 

 

~


	9. Speculation Under Starlight...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see an offer made, and a deep deliberation of wonder of our Heroines mothers behalf. And then some truth under a starry sky.... as well as a rather out of place moment...

~

 

 

After desert was cleared away. Everyone was invited into the formal parlour for post dinner drinks, a card game or two, and some soft fluttering jazz music to fuel their background noise while they chattered. 

Mr and Mrs Jones, and The Elder Phillips were sat around the card table playing a dwindling game of whist accompanied by whiskey and softer cocktails for the ladies. They were laughing in good nature, wittering on about political and family related matters. 

The other five lounged around on the settees and armchairs, enjoying drinks and lethargically conversing with one another. But, slowly, and slyly, Frederick, Cressida and Leo were swept up into their own conversation that constituted many laughs between the three. Rather leaving Libby and Ben to themselves…

As they had to listen to Cressida cackle her awful laugh once again, they both fought to hide their smiles to one another. 

“Why does the analogy of wicked witch spring to mind?” Benedict asked quietly, 

Libby sniggered uncontrollably behind her hand. 

“She’ll hear you, shhh.” She giggled, Ben laughed just looking at her. And it was a smile that was nothing but creased lips, and wrinkled eyes due to the humour. Lord save her but she really did love that smile. It was like seeing a sunset shine through a foggy dawn. Clear, brilliant. And heart stopping. 

And he couldn’t help it either, his own smile trebled when he saw the wonderful sight of hers.

“You know, there was, um, something I wanted to talk to you about…” he said, leaning closer to her, she became very aware in the room full of people how unusually close she was, and how, for the sake of social rules, she should care. But she just couldn’t bring herself to distance them, just for the mere and Inconsequential sake of what others thought. She loved that he could make her not care.

“When I, brought that book to your room today. I saw one of your sketchbooks, the one left open on the table, the one you did of Leo…” He watched as a blush decorated her cheeks. She peered down into her lap, shyly. 

“They’re Just worthless sketches…” she corrected, looking back up at him to see him shake his head.

“They really aren’t.” Benedict corrected, forcing and willing her eyes to meet his own, giving her a look that was pure seriousness.

“They’re brilliant, Libby. Right down to the way you captured his sly smile and that sarcastic gleam in his eyes. You’re a fantastic artist, and I think I know of someone who would be looking for an illustrator as fantastic as you….”

“Who would that be?” she asked, smiling wide and watching his smile doing the same. 

“Me.” He answered, looking deadly serious yet loving all at once.

“What? Are you, offering me a job?” she asked unsurely.

“The Publishing house is always looking for freelance artists to illustrate their books. I think every author in London would kill to have you.” He said earnestly. His hand touching hers.

“You’re not doing this out of pity are you” she dared herself to ask. She knew that was a bit below the belt, but, she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

He smiled. He didn’t think she would genteelly accept without her furious tongue intercepting on behalf of her beautifully stubborn brain. 

“Not in the slightest. I’m offering you a job because I believe you to be quite a credible investment. And I just need sure I snap you up before any other Publishing house in London decides too.” He winked. 

“Is that all I am to you Cumberbatch? A credible investment? Your meal ticket.” She mocked, smiling. Inaudibly accepting his wonderful sounding offer.

“The most beautiful meal ticket I’ve ever had. Or have ever to have.” He corrected. She laughed. Holding out her hand so he could shake it.

He looked down at it, and shook it, gladly taking her warm soft, and small palm into his own. Sliding their hands together. 

“I’d rather seal the deal with a kiss...” He whispered huskily into her ear. She flushed red, fighting not to laugh. 

 

“Later perhaps…” she promised. 

“Miss Jones…” he asked, mock being appalled. “Are you inviting me into your boudoir?” he hushed hoarsely. 

“You should know, in that instance that, you are the undoubtedly first gentleman to behold such an auspicious honour…Gracing my boudoir, many have tried and failed.” She winked, smiling with all her might. 

She watched his eyes light up.

“I’m overwhelmingly honoured, and if I may enquire? How many conquests have you bade farewell too my lady?” he spoke amusedly.

“Let me just say, the poetic Frenchman is quite incomparable to you, but I wouldn’t turn down a romantically penned poem in another language…” she joked. 

“My French is rather rusty, a few choice phrases I’m afraid. But my Italian is considerably less below par, would you take a poem in Italian?” 

“In a heartbeat.” She smiled, unbelieving how happy a mere few exchanged words between him and she could induce such placid happiness. 

“Meraviglioso.” Benedict whispered in practiced Italian. 

It was at that moment, that Mrs Jones looked over in her daughter’s direction, just checking if she was letting her runaway tongue do any more unnecessary spewing of her stubborn thoughts, the manner of which would never land her a husband. And then she saw the two of them. Ben and Libby sat in close proximity on the settee, smiling to each other in a manner that could be misconstrued as flirtatious. She realised then, in a split second, just how unashamedly happy and carefree her daughter looked, and the man sat across from her was looking at her with such interest and love in his eyes. She peered over to Frederick, who was busy whispering with Cressida shamelessly as Leo had excused himself to get a drink from the other side of the room. And she conjectured in that moment, whether or not she was making a wise decision trying to pair Libby off with Frederick Phillips. The sight of the two smiling so easily, and laughing did make her wonder…..

She smiled widely at him, looking up through her long black lashes in a manner that made her instantly alluring to him, without her even realising it. She was all fantastic blue eyes and wonderful smiles in that moment.

“I can also order a cappuccino in Italian, but, unfortunately that phrase is, quite, useless and off-putting in the art of seduction…” he smiled, seeing her laugh. 

They heard Cressida let loose another guffaw of chortling laughter behind them , Looking at the hooting blonde, Libby saw that her hand rested quite far up her brothers own thigh as he made a joke which resulted in her raucous laughter. 

Her spine stiffened, and she felt a swell of familial protection swoop through her limbs like setting concrete.

“I think now would be an opportunistic venture outside for a cigarette.” She growled, moved to unease by the wretched woman advancing on Leo.

“I’ll join you. Left to myself, I fear I may fall prey to her too.” Benedict hushed as they both stood. Sweeping out of the room slowly. 

Mrs Jones watched also as the pair left the room for a cigarette. Whilst the others stayed behind.

Yes. 

 

She really was wondering……

~

 

 

 

 

It was the kind of night that seemed so still, nonchalant and uncaring in the company of the hot night air, and the bare unhindered gaze of starlight and the gentle caress of the moon that painted everything an enchanting silver. Like earlier when the sky was tinged a flame ridden amber, the hot gust of wind that had lingered around then, still loitered in the air now, ruffling the leaves on the trees and fussing the even blades of green grass that were awash in beaded silver moonlight, and the deep blue tinge of night. The moonlight skipped over the ripples in the dormant pond, bouncing over the water, and across to the back terrace off the conservatory where two figures longed for the solitude of one another’s company. 

They wandered out under the starlight, across the lawn coming to standstill and looking over the surrounding pond and green woods that surrounded the back lawn. They were content to not talk for the time being. For one, they both were gently inhaling a cigarette, and for another, Libby was too wound up over Cressida making sordid motions to her brother. Of whom she didn’t have a hope in hell of ensnaring in her grasp. 

So, they both quietly and serenely smoked, before studding out the burning ends and turning for a more, privately had conversation that they could easily have out here, in the un-listening eye of nature. And not in an overcrowded parlour where every motion could be scrutinised for fear of uncivility. 

Libby fell perfectly freed to let the soft stroke of moonlight lay its silvery hands on her skin. Only illuminating its ivory paleness, thought Benedict. She didn’t feel cold, what with the eloping summer night air wrapping around her its warmth like the most serene blanket, she still didn’t complain when she felt the warmed fine fabric that was benedict’s dinner jacket being placed carefully around her moonlit caressed and bare shoulders. As his arms crossed over her, she caught a draft of scent that she had quickly learned to associate with him. It was a warming and comforting smell. Clean shaving soap, a fine aftershave, and the smoky tang of cigarettes. The aroma warmed her stomach lining, and the bodily heat from the warm jacket fuelled her skin, fusing its soothing warmth from him to her. 

She smiled up at him. Before frowning slightly.

“But you’ll get cold…” she muttered, placing a tentative hand on the thin cloth of his upper right arm. But, as her palm touched the fine fabric, lightly grazing his skin underneath, he didn’t feel cold. He felt scorching, the heat of him under her palm both reassuring and oddly comforting. 

He simply smiled. In a rare wonderful smile that she had never seen on anyone else, one of those endangered smiles that one only ever sees in the most sporadic and intermittent of times through life. The moonlight clung to his skin too, shimmering on his frosty complexion that thawed when he smiled. His eyes seemed to harness the eternal blue of night’s shade, and reflect them back to her in a kaleidoscope of silver, grey, and swirling cerulean blue. He paid her comment no heed save for the smile, and used the confines of his, admittedly much too large, jacket to weave her closer to him. Pulling on the lapels to reel her lips into his for a kiss. Winding her body forwards into his own, once again, filling his empty cold spaces with her warming and soft curves. 

She didn’t hesitate as he kissed her. His hands sliding under the back of his jacket, and spreading his large hot palms to press against her slightly cooler bare back, now warming up under the silk lining of his dinner coat. And his lips twisted wonderfully against her own again in a soft, hot, wet warming and spine tingling kiss. She wondered if every kiss between them would have this effect on her. Make her loose her reliant brain, and leave her dizzy and lost without him. She suddenly thought back to what he had said to her earlier ‘A kiss so raw with passion is supposed to leave one with not quite so many thoughts in her head…’ and my god, he was utterly right. She felt him smile under her own lips as she let her hands wander freely into his dark tresses, curling between the thick locks. She felt and heard him moan softly, pulling her even closer so they touched chest to chest, his hands stole down her body, skimming over curve where her back met her rear and she arched further into him. As she was tugged closer, her hands abandoned his hair, and tucked around his shoulders. 

When his lips eventually stopped twisting against her own, giving them both an opportunity to gain some much needed air into their lungs, But Benedict didn’t want to stop kissing her. He couldn’t. His lips moved down past her cheek and across her jaw, working their way down her neck. His nose nuzzled into her cooled skin, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume and the soap which she had earlier washed with. It was frustratingly fantastic combination of lavender, vanilla and that infamous Dior perfume he smelt there earlier. He couldn’t help himself, he could feel the lust spiralling his brain and body out of control. He tracked open mouthed kisses down the pale scented column of her throat, the only sounds that echoed through the hot night air was the scorching sound of his lips leaving her skin with soft smacks, and her gasping his name in a way that only kindled his burning need for her. Aswell as soft growl like moans that rumbled from the back of his throat as he kissed hers. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and his moans trebled. 

“Oh, Benedict...” she gasped, arching into his even more, her entire body feeling rather like an erogenous zone that this glorious man in front of her could devour right there on the back lawn in plain sight. She was awash and alight with nothing but passion flaming her bones and tingling it warmth on her skin. She bit her lip as she felt the barest graze of his teeth sink ever so slightly into her collarbone. It was an odd sensation she felt, but this man before her knew what he was doing, and knew exactly how he could drive her mad. She wondered how many other women he had kissed like this. 

“Is. Is-s this how you kiss all of your-r conquests Ben?” she moaned, gasping as she felt his lips on her neck again. 

“Oh Libby.” He moaned deeply in a husky voice that was tinged in longing and want. 

“There’s never been anyone else, there’s only ever been you. You’re the woman I want. The only woman. I want you in my bed every night, and every morning. I want to make your life a dream to live by my side, and I want nothing but your happiness. If I can just give that to you, I can die a very happy man.” He growled hotly onto her skin. 

She could’ve burst in happiness and passion right there. Right in his arms. Just one weak willed, wobbly kneed woman who would do anything for the splendidly perfect man whose arms she was encaptured in forever. 

“Oh, Benedict. I think I love you. Very much.” She cried happily. He smiled against her neck, heart avalanched in content bliss. 

“Say that again…” 

“I love you benedict.” She whispered again at his demand. 

“Again... “ He teased, smiling against her skin from somewhere under her jaw. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” She gabbled, smiling happily onto his shoulder as they held each other so very close. Clinging onto one another in nothing but a sheer passionate way.  
He laughed, the sound bubbled up out of his throat and delighted her ears. Her own laughs forcing a smile to break across the surface of his lips. Making him smile with all his might. 

“I can’t take much more of this kissing and loving you behind closed doors nonsense, as soon as that revolting Phillips boy leaves, I‘m asking your father and your brother for your hand.” 

He smiled, swaying his body close to hers again. His hand coming up and carting down the side of her face, lifting it by a few centimetres so he could gaze into the face of the woman he could now love for the rest of his life. 

“Was that a proposal Benedict?” She asked with a large smile as he moved to kiss her again. 

“Yes. No more picnics rowing boats, or serenading Frenchman for you, Mrs Cumberbatch.” 

He leered, kissing her passionately once more. She smiled into the kiss. Before suddenly, faster, certainly faster than she could comprehend, His lips were ripped away from her own. And she opened her eyes just as she heard the sickening thud of bone on flesh.

“YOU UTTER!...” Libby didn’t think she had ever heard her brother say such colourful words before. 

She gasped in horror as ben was snatched away from her and rugby tackled to the ground by Leo. Presumably the passionately entwined pair hadn’t noticed he had also ventured outside for a cigarette and had seen them across the lawn, locking lips in the most amorous way.

Benedict twisted his body away from Leo, making no move to fight his friend back as he snarled in anger at him. His cheek was thrashing with pain where he had been hit. And he got a taste of what being punched in the face felt like. His jaw felt like it was hinging off his mouth, and it already felt bruised and tender. 

“HOW COULD YOU? THAT AWFUL PHILLIPS BASTARD HAS SPENT THE WHOLE EVENING TRYING TO GET INTO HER BED, AND THEN YOU COME ALONG AND…”

“LEO! STOP!”

Libby shouted, hurling herself at her angrily advancing brother. Thrusting her palms onto his chest, trying in vain to halt him, but just ending up being staggered backwards as he walked towards Benedict. 

Benedict stood and faced Leo. Braving up to his – upset – best friend who was advancing at a matter of knots with a fuming look in his eyes, and his face soured with bitter anger. 

“Leo…” He started, but he just swung for him again, using his bodyweight when Ben dodged the swing, to knock him the silver moonlight beaded grass below them. 

Libby ran forwards, desperately attempting to pry Leo off of her, now she supposed, future husband….

“LEO!” She yelled angrily, tugging at his jacket as he scuffled around on top of Ben.

“I’M GOING TO…Ow.KILL YOU!”

“STOP! WOULD you?”

“OW! Leo, that’s my knee!”

“Get! You’re... On my foot.”

“YOU BASTARD!” 

“OOooF! Let me just…” There was another thud of fist on flesh and Libby winced as the men rolled off one another, scrambling up. 

Libby saw with fear and slight anger that Benedict had a small bruise under his right eye, and his hair had been mussed (more so than during their passionate kiss) and his bowtie had slithered off from around his neck, laying like a black serpent on the grass below their feet. Aswell as a couple of his shirt buttons being savagely torn off. 

Benedict winced and stood to his full height, Libby seized the opportunity and placed herself directly between them. 

“STOP!” she ordered lethally, out of breath, and with the singularly most serious, hard, not to be contested look, Leo had ever seen take over his sister’s eyes. 

“I’m not..trying..to get, into her bed. Leo. I love your sister. I want to marry her, I want to help her find a job and live the rest of ..my life. With her. I really Love her, Leo. I do. With everything I possess.” 

Benedict huffed, out of breath and with sheer honesty. Libby was heartened, and smiled softly at him.

“I’m sorry you had to find out like this Leo.” Benedict started. 

“But benedict was going to ask you, and mother and father for my hand as soon as the Phillips departed.” Libby spoke softly, finishing the sentence. 

Something clicked in Leo’s eyes. Something soft that overtook the protective alpha male dominant brother streak, and replaced that with understanding and ease. 

“And. You. You lovehim, back?” Leo asked.

“Yes. More than I could ever articulate…” she spoke honestly, moving closer to her brother. 

Leo exhaled, letting a soft smile grace his lips.

“He’s a good man. One of the best. I have no doubt you’ll have every happiness with him.” Leo spoke fondly to Libby, to which she smiled, and leaned forwards to hug him. 

Ben watched as Leo squeezed her tight in a hug. He understood completely the reasons for his upset. If he was watching over a kid sister like Leo watched over her, then, quite rightly he’d want to beat anyone who laid a finger on her to a pulp too.

Leo released her, rolling his eyes as she picked off the odd stray leaf from his jacket and straightened his floppy tie. As she moved away, Leo spoke to Ben. 

“You know how much me and my parents love this stubborn tongued witty lass, Ben. Take care of her.”

“You know I will.”

Leo looked straight into his sister’s eyes. “She’s a treasure is our Elizabeth…” he spoke softly, running a loving hand down the side of her face before he hugged her tightly, placing a kiss on her head. Despite all her shortcomings, even with her fierce mouth, stubborn manners and lack of care for etiquette, Leo loved his sister so deeply, she was more a vest friend than a sibling. And hit both devastated him and delighted him to know she had found her happiness.

Benedict smiled. Of course. His jaw ached, his cheek felt like it was on fire, and he was pretty sure Leo had dislodged a bone or two in tackling him to the ground, but, he was, in that moment. So incandescently, heart stopping-ly happy. 

And so was she. 

 

But a lone silhouetted figure shouted their names from the patio in a grave manner, to which they all rushed back across the lawn (Benedict picked up his scattered items of dress wear as he did. When Leo tackled him, and Libby moved to intervene, his jacket had slipped off her shoulders and onto the grass) When they approached the patio, they saw parker looking at them all in alarm as they all looked so dishevelled and rumpled in the moonlight. And he wondered for one why Leo had grass stains on his shirt front? And all their previously happy moods were about to dissipate…

“Parker, whatever is the matter?” Leo spoke.

They watched as his face fell gravely. 

“Your father, has collapsed, Sir.”

By the time he had uttered the words, they all three, had all run inside.


	10. Pure and Simple Bliss...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is our Heroine's mother smarter than she lets on? Does our Hero have a chance of winning fair heroines heart after all?... we shall see......

Libby and Leo had never ran so fast through the house in all their entire lives, Not even when they were children, had they ever sprinted through their home this fast when playing games. Leo was slightly ahead of her own gait, as he didn’t have a huge silk dress to contend with, nor was he attempting to run in women’s footwear. He rounded the corner of the hallway that came to his parent’s bedroom. He could see Simpy, and his mother crouched over the once tall and proud figure of his father who lay sprawled across the bed, suddenly not looking so tall and courageous. It was a startling sight to see the man who had carried an eight year old Leo around on his shoulders, and whom Leo always thought the strongest most powerful man in the world, look small and shrunken in pain.

Leo stood still, just looking into the room, paralysed with fear and catatonia. Staring ahead with the starting of tears beginning in his eyes. Libby skirted around him, running past and sinking to her knees beside the bed to immediately help her mother and the housekeeper. She was scared too. She had to try and not let her tears and the cold dread of fear get the better of her. She loved her father so dearly, and remembered when she was little, if Leo had ever been beastly to her, as the bully of an older brother, she would always run away in tears to find her father, who would sit her on his lap, and make her smile and laugh again, the man was so tall and foreboding, that it was frightening and horrific to think anything could ever knock the large man off his feet, and make him fall ill. She, through tears that she was barely containing in her eyes, scrambled madly at her mother’s instructions to loosen his bowtie and unclip his short from so he could breathe easier.

Benedict came to a standstill behind Leo, watching all the frenzied women flitted around the ailing man, it damn near wounded him to see Libby and Leo so upset. He put a hand on Leo’s shoulder, whispering hurriedly into his friend’s ear from the shadows of the hallway where Leo was frozen still.

“Leo, is there anything I can do to help?... anything?…” he asked, Leo just shook his head in response.

“I don’t know, I-“ he stuttered. Swallowing and not tearing his eyes away from the sight in front of him.

“Leo…” Libby uttered gravely “One of you needs to call the doctor, quickly….”

“Libby, put this behind his head, make sure he’s propped up.”

“Simpy, fetch a cold flannel from the en suite.”

They heard Libby’s mother call to the other women in the room. Benedict watched as Leo didn’t move. He made not the least inclination that he was going to for that matter.

“Ben…” Leo uttered in shock. Benedict placed a hand on his friends shoulder, forcing him to turn and look into his eyes.

“I’ll call the Doctor. You stay here and help. You can do it Leo. He needs you.” Ben muttered softly, trying to perk up Leo’s alarmed courage that he knew was lying dormant due to his fear.

Benedict rushed away downstairs to the phone. Taking the steps three at a time.

Leo swallowed and walked into the room, taking tiny tentative steps across to the bed. Seeing his sister and his mother fuss around the man, doing all that they could to make him comfortable.

“Leo…?” Libby asked, looking up at her big brother. To see massive spurts of tears fall down his cheeks. He was silent save for that. And it ripped her heart to shreds to see her brother, so usually full to the brim of promiscuousness and teasing, fall apart in tears in front of her. His face looked stoic and unmoving. He just stared in horror at the man on the bed in front of him. Looking severely like a hurt eight year old boy again. Gone was the man she knew as her brother. Here was a frightened boy who didn’t want anything to happen to his father.

“Oh Leo.” She whimpered.

She got to her feet and placed arms around him, sensing nothing for a second before she felt him slump onto her shoulder, crying and sobbing. His body wracked with sobs. She carted a soothing hand through his hair, trying to remain a sturdy wall of indifference for her brother, despite the fact all she wanted to do was sob aswell.

“It’s ok. He’s going to be ok... You’ll see Leo. He’ll be fine.” She assured. Whispering into his ear as he held her close and sobbed. Tears wetting her skin as he cried.

He didn’t need to say anything. They both knew that. He didn’t need to offer an explanation as to why he was so upset. Because she felt the same.

She just hoped what she promised was no lie. She hoped too that he would be alright.

 

  
~

 

 

They, all three, waited silently in the hallway while the doctor examined Mr Jones. They heard nothing but the soft murmur of voices from behind the closed door, the timbre of the doctor’s male voice reverberating through the solid timbre of the wooden door every time he spoke. They also heard the softer and quieter register of her mother’s voice asking questions.

Libby threw her head back against the wall, softly sighing, with her hands behind her back. Ben stood by her side. Upon hearing her sigh he reached over and wound his fingers through her own. She looked over at him and smiled meekly. Even in the indistinct and dim shadows of the unlit corridor, he saw the white gleam of unshed tears collect in her eyes. He smiled back in a quiet look of assurance. Winding his whole arm so their arms and hands were twined with one another’s. He gently squeezed her hand, his thumb running so slightly over her knuckle.

Leo, who was stood the other side of his sister, smiled weakly to himself seeing Benedict hold his sisters hand in a comforting way. He meant with all his heart what he had said earlier. Benedict really was a good man, and “One of the best” as he had put it. Most suitors when they learned that an indisposed rich man’s daughter was unwedded, would leap at the chance of marrying into the fortune, and immediately seek to seduce her into an illicit marriage merely for the money, and not to secure her happiness, well, the thought of that ever happening to Libby made him ill. In that moment, he was very glad and relieved she had fallen in Love with Benedict. The kind hearted man would never harm a fly, he didn’t even hit back when Leo attacked him earlier. He couldn’t bring himself too. He knew he was a placid non-violent sort, but not weak. He would stand up and hold his own ground was he forced too. And Leo knew with certainty, that he would unquestionably protect Libby with his dying breath. In a world so full of corruption and ill-mannered, immoral actions, He was led to content bliss to bliss to know that someone so pure and righteous had found someone of equal measure to belong with.

They all three, snapped their heads to the door as it was opened and Libby’s mother appeared behind the doctor as she showed him out, asking Leo to see him to the front door. Leo nodded gruffly, and led the way. Libby entered the room cautiously after her mother gave a meagre nod to both her and Benedict.

She shut the door behind them both. Seeing Libby walk across to the bed and look at her father, so pale and devoid of life from under the bed sheet. One arm lay sprawled across his stomach, and the other by his side, as his chest rose and fell softly. On sensing the hush of the room, indicating many people were gathered round the end of the bed, he gently opened his eyes. And softly smiled at his daughter who was crouched by his side, squeezing his hand gently in her own.

“Elisabeth…” he spoke quietly in the smallest voice she had ever heard him muster. His face looked so kind and happy when he looked to her, his silver eyes twinkling along with his smile.

“My darling girl. You needn’t look so terrified. My heart may be in a weaker condition than most, but It is unlikely to move me to death quite so swiftly at any point in the near future.” He rasped.

Libby cried softly, smiling as she grasped his hand, placing both of hers atop his own.

“You took damn near ten years off my life…” she laughed happily and gently, tears moistening her cheeks.

Her father smiled weakly.

“I can’t depart this earth without seeing you married off and impossibly happy, my Libby.” He spoke softly.

Libby didn’t know what to say. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

“Father….” She started, but she saw that the old man’s eyes were starting to close as sleep weighed down on him heavily.

She turned back to look at Benedict and her mother, who stood at the end of the bed. Benedict gave her a sinking look and a smile. Assured her father meant he didn’t want her to marry someone like him.

“Let him rest for now.” Mrs Jones said, as Libby kissed her father’s forehead, stood, and wiped her tears from her eyes before she moved to walk out of the room in front of Benedict.

Benedict moved to walk from the room. But Mrs Jones cleared her throat, and he stilled turning back to look at her. Libby turned back and paused from the hallway, looking into the room.

“Shut the door when you leave. I wish to conduct this private conversation with Benedict alone, Libby. Go see to your brother if you would.” Mrs Jones asked in a stern voice.

Libby looked unsure for a second before she shut the door. They heard her walk away before Mrs Jones spoke and breached the silence.

“How long, Benedict?” she asked softly.

“I’m sorry?” Ben spoke confusedly.

“How long have you been quelling the urge to ask for Libby’s hand?” she asked, more clearly.

Benedict swallowed, looking at the carpet, and feeling a dizzying sense of guilt.

“Ever since the night I met her. Ten years ago.” He spoke softly.

“And why, are you letting these feelings surface now?” she asked.

Benedict immediately got the gist of her insinuation. She was implying that he was only coming forward about his feelings now, as Mr Jones was falling ill, and the Jones fortune was up on the market for marrying into with an unwed daughter.

“Because I feared you and your husband would not approve of the union. And you already had so many suitors lined up asking for her hand.”

Relief washed over Mrs Jones’s heart in a cleansing wave at that point. She clutched a hand to her chest and sighed. She admitted to herself that marrying for fortune seemed most out of the man’s genteel and gracious character.

“I’m sorry for my incorrect accusation. I. It must be an alarming side effect of the shock-“

“I understand.” Benedict hushed softly, and Mrs Jones looked into the man’s kind blue eyes and saw that, yes. He really did understand.

“Benedict. If I may ask, why ever would you assume that we wouldn’t approve of the union?” she questioned with a smile that made ben feel sheepish and foolish indeed.

“What with being one of Leo’s friends, and my being so close to the family for so many years, I thought you may take it as my trying to muscle in on your fortune and your daughter. Whom I know you love very much. But…”

He paused and looked in the smiling woman’s eyes, the eyes that were remarkably like Libby’s own. Mrs Jones watched as his whole face changed, his eyes and mouth wrinkled in a utterly disarming smile as he answered.

“I really love her. More than I could ever express. Everything about her. Her eyes, her hair, her smile, her stern tongue that I know you hate, I love her most for that I think…” he narrowed his eyes, smiling.

Mrs Jones laughed.

“I’ve been dreaming for ten years that one day it would be the one thing someone fell in love with her for.”

He saw tears start in the older woman’s eyes.

“My god. You really do, love her don’t you.”

Benedict nodded adamantly.

“For all these years I’ve forced on her these awful horrible men, just to get her wedded and taken care of. Just so as she would have some wealth to her name. Some of whom I didn’t think were fit to lick the soles of her shoes, and all along, you…” she closed a hand over her mouth.

“Benedict.” She steeled herself.

“It would make me the happiest woman alive, if you were to wed my daughter.”

He smiled, swallowing tears of joy.

“Is that, your approval?” he asked gently.

She laughed. “Of course it is, you silly man!” she smiled.

She smiled even more as the young man crossed the room quickly and placed a small kiss on her forehead in joyful sentiment. His arms sweeping her in a quick hug.

“Thank you. I will make sure she has every happiness as my wife.”

“Of that I’ve no doubt.” She smiled.

“But, I’ve one condition you must adhere to….” She pressed firmly.

“Anything.” He gabbled.

“Wait til my husband regains his strength to tell him of your engagement to Libby. And maybe hide the fact from the blonde idiot downstairs. She’s quite set her cap for you, and I fear what she may do in retaliation…” she said gravely.

“And what of Leo? Does he know?”

Ben’s chin was still tingling in pain from when Leo had attacked him on the lawn earlier.

“Yes. He knows.” He answered quickly in a low voice

“And, I’ve been meaning to ask. Why are two of your buttons missing? And, why- good lord in that blood on your cheek?...”

“Mnn.” Benedict smiled, touching his tender cheekbone where it had been clobbered by leo’s fost earlier.

“Yes. Leo’s reaction was fairly proactive in terms of his discovery…” Benedict admitted.

She rolled her eyes.

“Why it is all men are so blinded by nonsensical alpha male dominance that they then descend into violence like a heard of mentally deficient sheep...” she asked aloud to herself.

Benedict chuckled. Libby undoubtedly got her infallible dry wit from her mother. Whom was clearly more skilled at holding the lashings of her tongue than her daughter.

“Go. Go tell her. But for gods sakes hide it from that odious Cow downstairs.”

Ben smiled crossing to the door, and slipping out before he heard her interject once more, he paused and looked back into the room.

“Actually. On second thoughts, perhaps don’t. I am looking for an excuse to kick her out of my house…”

Benedict smiled, ducking out of the room quickly.

 

Mrs Jones was left to her ear splitting smile. And she had to wonder no longer….

~

 

 

 

Benedict had never run down the stairs so fast in all of his adult life. He skidded around the corner of the hallway, thundered around down the landing, and damn near sprinted across it to reach the stairs, which he galloped down at an eager pace, taking them in numerous strides as he ran, his formal shoes clattering on the dark polished pine wood with loud thumps. Benedict was a tall man, and he knew there wasn’t much grace in his long limbs when he rushed, his pace was as wobbly and uncertain as that of a new-born deer, he was one lean body held together by spindly limbs that somehow miraculously managed to carry him. And he didn’t even care if he looked like a fool. He was a love sick, love stricken, and merry fool in that moment. And he adored it.

Mrs Simpson, more fondly known as Simpy, the housekeeper, was just heading back up the stairs with a new stack of towels to disband to the guest rooms as her last chore before she retired for the night. When she saw the rushing mad form of Benedict blunder blindly down the stairs where she stood, his legs barely managing to stagger forwards his askew figure that was moving far too fast to coincide to normality.

“Benedict?”

She asked, alarmed by his speed and urgency. She had known the man since he was a young boy, as he used to spend the majority of his summers here with Leo and Libby. She had cleaned the cuts and grazes on the skinny, mop haired, little boys knocked knees far too many times for them to stand on ceremony now.

He smiled widely when he saw her, skirting around her on the stairs as he made no such attempt to slow down. The man practically skipped a circle around the woman. Beaming, smiling and laughing as he whirled back around her and planted a huge smacking kiss on the woman’s cheek whilst holding her shoulders in his large hands. Simpy didn’t half wonder if the man had gone completely preposterously, mad.

“What on earth is the matter with you? Have you hit your head?”

She asked, and, then she couldn’t help it, she smiled. The man’s handsome, knee weakening – idiotic – grin was infectious. And it was crippling her with joy, and he was spreading it like any other person would the common cold.

“Oh. Love Simpy. Love. The sheer, bloody, ever prevailing force of Love.”

He stammered in a foolhardy manner, taking her hand and twirling the elder woman in a circle as she stood, and causing a laugh to simmer up from her throat.

“It’s not healthy, you know, this show of lunacy!”

She chided, still smiling. Showing no penchant for scolding him at all. She was far too occupied with laughing at him.

“Simpy I’d happily suffer being a lunatic for love.”

He beamed, skipping down the rest of the stairs and flouncing off in the general direction of the lounge. She smiled watching him go, before walking up the rest of the stairs smiling.

It was in that moment that Libby slipped silently out of the formal lounge, pulling the door closed behind her. Turning her back to the advancing man as she shut the door.

She turned and, was utterly gobsmacked by the sight that was advancing on swift limbs towards her.

Benedict. And never before had she seen him look so indisputably happy. His eyes gleamed, no. shone brightly, brighter than any man made light bulb she had ever seen. And that glorious smile that creased his eyes and his cheeks. And the rest of him was quite a sight too. His knees were scuffed with mud from the dewy grass he had wrestled Leo on earlier. His shoes were marked with blades of grass, and leaves. His shirt was still missing three or four buttons. (And still streaked with green stains) his jacket looked rumpled and creased, and his bowtie was snaking out of his right jacket pocket. He looked dishevelled, bruised, dirty, but very unarguably happy.

“Ben?” she asked smiling.

He smiled even more at her, advancing quickly, still looking like a rushing mad man.

He crossed to her quickly and took her head in his hands, immediately kissing her, so much so the force and speed of it backed her into the wall next to the door. At which point he stopped being quite so courteous, as his hands reached down and grabbed her legs, hoisting her up and holding her as she squealed into his lips. He walked them away from the door, breaking his lips from her own and just hugging her tight to his own body.

“Your mother knows! She gave her approval!!” he spoke in a husky passionate tone from in-between lips that had just been kissed.

“What?” Libby asked, yelping, and closing her hands around Benedict’s neck as he held her there.

“Your mother approved. As soon as your father recovers, we can tell him! Libby I can marry you and make you my wife and, give you a job and you’ll never have to solicit after young bachelors again! We can live together! Grow old together! Even have a child or two, what do you say?” he gabbled, beaming at her, how could she ever refuse him?

“Now how could any sane woman refuse that?” she spoke, smiling as he leaned forwards and kissed her again.

His heart was running in circles in his chest he was positive of that. It refused to settle, and sought to leap right out of his ribcage should he get any happier. He stood her down again – but not before whirling her around in a hug.

“I’m coming to your room tonight… One because I have to see you before the sun rises and two, because I have to give the future Mrs Cumberbatch a proper proposal of marriage….” His eyes held something lustful and intent. And she loved every speck of it.

“But of course, Mr Cumberbatch. Anything for my doting husband to be…” she intoned sweetly, kissing him on the lips.

Neither of them could pinpoint a time when they had been happier….

 

 

 

~

A hot and dark blue midnight fell easily over the large house and the surrounding grounds, painting everything in its sight an ethereal silver, and gusting the atmosphere with its warm midsummer’s night air. The moon hung lazily in the sky, winking at the earth below in the racy promise of a pristine nightfall, and an even more glorious sunrise. But, even with the assurance that tomorrow would be another equally brilliant and bright summer’s day, that didn’t extinguish the fact that it was still going to be a beautiful, warm, and heavenly night.

Libby had never been so restless in all her life. She had removed the dress and jewellery, and makeup, and long since donned a white nightgown. It was trimmed with scalloped lace at the hem and the bust. And taken in slightly at the waist. It was sleepwear that she never intended anyone else to see, meant for comfort and not seduction. And so she covered herself up with a dark red silk dressing gown that game down just above her knees. The black one she usually wore earlier was still a might damp from her pond dip earlier in the day, and it went as far to say that the skin she revealed made her wary to be seen by anyone as she was dressed quite brazenly for her liking.

She had tried sleeping, certainly. Laying herself between her soft sheets and pillows and willing sleep to grace her state, but, it sought not too. She twisted, turned and tangled in the fabrics, getting them interwoven with her legs, as she desperately watched minute by minute tick by very slowly. She grumbled and threw the covers off herself, and she listened. Second by second, until she thought the ticking sound would fuel her impending insanity. She threw the covers off completely, laying exposed to the warm air in her bedroom. She sat bolt upright, not the least bit weary from rest. And, pulling on the dark red gown and leaving it to float loosely by her sides, she was in her own solitary company after all, and she then wandered through to her lounge, wiling away the slowly progressing time by pouring through all of her books, waiting until any arrangement of words ensnared her attention and compelled her to read forwards like so often when she picked up a book. But, it would not. No words reached out from their worn pages and reeled her in. She could not be swayed into her books thick musty pages by the army of words that marched on from page to page until they ran dry. Her mind was set elsewhere, on other things…. Waiting eagerly until two o’clock struck for one thing…

She threw yet another book down onto its previous pile, dust scattering under its wake, twirling their specks of matter in the shaft of soft moonlight that sliced inwards from the window. She sighed, running a hand through her clipped hair as she considered going for a wander around the house to ease her sleepless head. She walked lazily through the lounge and out the door, climbing softly down her stairs on bare feet, avoiding the steps she knew that creaked the most. She silently slid down the hallway, running her fingertips along the textured wallpaper, before coming out to the hallway and around to Benedict’s room. She smiled at the mere mention of the man’s name. And suddenly his face came alive in her mind, his features lighting up as he smiled, or purred her name. Eyes gleaming like two twin blue torches, smile widening into a laugh that anyone would struggle not to find compelling or handsome. And when he did laugh, it was a wonderful, deep enriching sound that made her believe the opulent and low octave could strike oil from the ground. She sighed, happily though. Breezing past his door and fighting the urge not to slip in and see him. She thought, with distain and alarm, that was what Cressida may do in the middle of the night. She wondered with a smile if he did actually heed her warning and lock his door?

She ran her palm softly across the bare wood of the door as she walked past, so wanting to just gently slither inside and be reunited with the wonderful man within. She breezed past his door, not making a sound, and wandered through the short twisted labyrinth of more hallways and eventually coming to the landing, and across from the stairs. She paused for a moment, looking over the large foyer of the house she had called her home for over 20 or so years. She loved their London townhouse too, but, there was so much more diversity and beauty to be found here in the hallowed halls of the big country mansion that it wasn’t a wonder everyone in her family favoured it so, and it pleased her to know that, save for Leo, everyone was travelling less and less into London. Father’s hotel business could easily be run from his office and telephone line here, and he always said he hated the offices in London, so stuffy and constricting. He said he loved how he could take a phone call in his study, peering out over the greenery of the gardens as he did. In London, he would protest with revulsion, he had a cheap view of a street that he shared with dozens of other people, but here, he had the splendour and privacy of his own home, and a view that was spectacularly unique. Libby slid her hand down the banister, walking silently down the stairs, gliding gently from step to step. When reaching the carpeted floor of the foyer, she decided to turn and head for the kitchen. It would be dark and deserted now, with the staff long since retiring for the evening and having gone to bed. She swept noiselessly through the dark lounge and empty dining room, bounding quietly down the stairs on bare feet and long legs until she turned into the kitchen to see it illuminated by the large, slightly dusty window that was letting in all the moonlight from the garden.

She moved across the cold tiled floor, trying to not react to the frigid cold sensation on the pads of her feet that made her spine shiver. She tiptoed across the floor, and grabbed a glass that was drying on the side, filling it with tap water and taking a long gulp of it. Hoping the cooling drink would help her relax and find rest easier when she went back upstairs. She licked the remaining drops of water from her lips, gazing over at the kitchen clock that read it had just gone quarter to two in the morning. She placed the glass back and moved to exit to the kitchen, winding her way back through the dark house, across the echoing foyer and up the creaky stairs, in her haste to ascend the stairs quickly and get back to her room before Benedict did, she forgot that on the thirteenth step from the top, it creaked loudly in the middle, she winced as the wood let out a loud groan, hoping the echoing sound didn’t displace anyone from sleep. She scampered quietly up the rest of them. Crossing straight across the landing and through to the hallway past ben’s room, and weaving around the hallways to the staircase leading to her room.

But as she walked across, she felt something. Something, uncomfortable, that prickled along the back of her neck, like an unseen pair of eyes was feasting on the sight of her. It was the odd sixth sense side of her brain that made her ware of a figure clinging to the shadows from down the adjacent hallway to Leo and Cressida’s rooms. Her body slowed down, despite the fact that she couldn’t just have easily ignored the odd sense, and carry on walking to her room. She slowed. And she turned, to see the large figure of a lean, yet strong looking man hunch in the darkness of the hallway, gazing at her in a manner that was the most predatory thing she had ever been exposed too.

 

That figure was Frederick Phillips.

 

Her mouth parted, and despite the fact that she had just gone downstairs and imbibed a pint of water. Her lips felt parched and dry, and as if she had just consumed a bag of sand. She swallowed and fought valiantly for words, words that were now escapees of her struggling mind.

“You ought to be more careful Miss Jones. Scampering through the house dressed scantily in _that_ …”

He huskily intoned, moving down the landing a couple of steps closer to her. Him closing the distance between them made her feel panicked and cornered. She then noticed with alarm that the two sides of her robe had been left untied, baring her short – far too short – nightgown for his beastly eyes to ravish the sight of. She felt moved to nausea by the way he was looking at her, and that caused her to swiftly tug her gown together and tie the sash tight around her waist.

“Now, now. Don’t be hasty… I was quite enjoying the sight of _that_.” He purred, still advancing on her.

She noted with alarm that his lecherous comment referred to the sight of her body as _‘that’_ shuddering as she folded her arms around herself in an attempt to offset his glances.

“I wasn’t aware you were still here.” She said tersely, rather rudely, but, the man was eyeing her up like a piece of meat in the darkened space. She didn’t think now was really an opportune time for an attack of polite etiquette.

“Just getting a tad better acquainted with your friend, Cressida.” He spoke, hands loosely by his sides as he moved. She twitched a brow at him.

“Friend would be a gross overstatement.” She bit off in a clipped tone as his eyes slid up the sight of her pale bare legs. Her jaw ground together. Hard.

He chuckled “Yes. She did mention you were something of a loud mouthed, bookish, wet blanket. Her words, not mine.” He spoke, smiling.

“I’m amazed no curse words were thrown in there, she has quite the revulsion to me after all…” Libby spoke.

“Never the matter. It’s late and I wish to go to bed. I wouldn’t go as far as to undermine your intelligence, but you know where the front door is. Good Evening Frederick. It was a pleasure.”

She lied smarmily, moving to walk away from him.

  
Black spurts of horror danced down her spine, and burst into her bloodstream when she felt a hand enclose tightly around her wrist, and tug her close to a hard hot body behind her. Pressing her shoulder to his chest so his body just curved around hers ever so slightly.

“Like I said, Elisabeth, not so hastily. I really do wish to get to know you _much_ better.” He purred into her ear. She so hated the way he curled his tongue around her given name.

“Get off me.” She spat nastily, jerking her arm away to find he didn’t loosen his grip.

“Everyone was right about you, sweetheart. Such a stern tongue, I would love to be the one to tame it.” He spoke, lowering his voice to a hush as his hot breath swept down and over her shoulder, of which his other hand was exposing more of as her slid the gown down over her skin.

Her breathing accelerated, and her heart was beating like a caged animal trapped in her chest. She felt her insides blacken and shudder as his breath got closer.

“Now don’t get me wrong. Cressida was an easy flirt and an even easier lay, but I don’t want an easy bitch who will roll over and take what I give her. I want a bit of unwilling defiance and stubbornness. I’ve had quite enough of the revolting airheads who grace my bed, I want a pure, full figured...”

At this word, his hands slid down over her back and down her rear close to the insides of her thighs. The intimate touch making her flinch as he was too strong to overpower.

“… Woman, who’s not afraid to speak her mind. Libby. _Baby,_ I want you.”

He whispered against her skin, so close now she could feel the harsh scratch of his facial hair scratch against the soft skin of her neck, and it made her want to wretch and sob in protest. And she hated the little pet names he had purred in forceful endearment into her ear. _‘Sweetheart’_ and _‘baby’_.

Benedict would never call her that. Never would he endear her like Frederick would, reducing her to assets for him to pour over, wanting nothing but to get between her thighs. Benedict didn’t want that, he wanted all of her, every bit he could get, all of her in her entirety. _Oh god Ben._ She thought. _Sweet, wonderful Ben who was probably fast asleep in his bed right now, not knowing what was happening on the landing just a mere matter of feet away from his room. Just, come and save me from this. Help me please, for the love of god, Ben, I beg of you, please help me._

His grip around her wrist loosened, and she tried desperately to get away from him, his horrible words, and his heated breath. But as she struggled to escape, she found she was now pressed up against the hallway wall. Her body crushed underneath him to the cold wallpaper. Hands scrabbling over the textured smooth paper as she was forced there.

  
“Come on, baby, just, let your stubbornness go. I could give you so much. And I promise, I wouldn’t be the only one having a fine time if you would let me between your legs. You’d enjoy it too. It would hurt at first, a little, but, it always does the first time. After that, it’s easy…”

his hand tracked down over her lower abdomen, slithering to places she would rather he didn’t touch.

“I’m not dignifying that with an answer.”

She spat, growling at him as she tensed and stood still against him. His tongue wetting her neck as he hands continued exploring her in grossly inappropriate places. Stealing round to her backside, to claw into the peachy globe of her behind. Growling as he pulled her forwards and met her halfway with his own groin. Taking the hand he had used to hold her close, he pulled her hand sharply down to meet the hard flesh that was straining behind the fly of his trousers. She screwed her eyes shut tight, fighting the urge to be violently ill at the horrified feeling that swelled in her chest.

“You see what you do to me? You and your remarkably luscious body. I want to bury myself in those curves of yours darling, I want you to _scream_ my name when I take you.”

His voice was getting hotter and harsher, more impatience, and Libby wondered how long left she had before he would start hurting her to get what he wanted.

“You’ve had in Cressida’s bed this evening, isn’t that enough? Please just, let me go!”

She cried, fairly loudly, forcing him to clap a hand over her mouth. Pressing her neck back to an uncomfortable angle as his calloused palm slid roughly over her cheek, hurting her.

“Shhh. Or do you want everyone in the house to know what we’re up to?” he cackled, growling at her loudly.

“If my brother hears me, you’re no better than dead, I guarantee you that!” she hissed as she squirmed away from his hand.

She watched as a horrific glare overtook his features, his brown eyes shone black with hate, and she savoured the second or two of silence knowing how seething angry she had made him, before he retracted his hand, and slammed it hard across her face.

She gasped as he hit her, the blow stinging her face, and making her eye feel like it was going to combust from the force of it. Her head was jerked to the side, rolling her head against the wallpaper as tears were jerked from her eyes. Dropping down her cheeks as she stood gaping at the incredible pain that swam across her skin, burning her face so as in a way she knew she had a stinging red welt left there.

“Not so smarmy and bookish now? Are we? If you ask me it’s about time someone tamed that stubborn tongue…”

He hissed, hands groping over her again, pulling off the gown, she heard and felt it rip in a couple of places as he shredded it from her body hungrily. She whimpered as he did, scared to silence of what was about to happen to her. He threw it to the floor in a crumpled pile. Savouring the newfound feel of her with less clothes, her soft skin pressed against him, the scent of her driving him wild. He pressed her harder into the wall, she felt the once hardened flash at his groin, pressing insistently against her thigh.

“Keep still. And don’t make another sound, unless you want me to strike you again. Sweetheart. And you might yet enjoy what’s coming…”

Frederick hissed as he attempted to hitch up the hem of her night gown. She closed her eyes tight and willed not to let more tears fall.

 

....That was before she heard the singularly most glorious sound in all her adult life.

 

“Pity you won’t.”

 

Came a low baritone growl from somewhere over Frederick’s shoulder. The voice so deep it could strike oil… and the lavish voice was positively dripping with poisonous repulsiveness.

Libby opened her eyes to see Frederick torn away from her, and thrown carelessly to the carpeted floor of the hallway, not before which a bone cracking thud escaped into the air, and the man grunted clutching at his jaw as Benedict leered down over him like an angry god.

Because he truly was godlike in that moment. And Libby didn’t think she had ever seen him look at someone with such vehement hatred before. His eyes were dripping with loathing, brow set in a firm line, stonily surveying the hurting man squirming on the carpet in front of him. His mouth didn’t twitch with expression as he shot a glare of unpersuadable fury at Frederick. Libby was shrunken away against the wall, breathing hard and just watching as the marvellous man in front of her was inaudibly broadcasting sheer red anger from every pore in his body. It crackled around him in the air, pressing down on the oxygen around her that seemed tight and taut due to his emotion. He was able to change the mood in the room around him by the way he was stood, the usually aloof and polite man, who slouched with carefree laziness when he walked or moved, was drawn up to his full towering height that could intimidate the collective fury of armies all around the world if he so saw fit. Benedict was stood completely still. But the way his anger was coursing through his veins like powerful, and thundering lightning, made him look, very much so in that moment, Libby thought, like a man to be reckoned with. A legend. A deity of supreme unquestionable power. A god, _indeed._

Benedict and Libby listened as Frederick clutched his jaw and laughed, still reclined in a position of pain on the floor.

“Well, well. I’ll be damned if it isn’t the mediaeval old knight come to rescue his pure maiden.”

He chuckled. Benedict’s jaw tensed, and Libby sensed that whatever he did next, would be the cause of a very forceful amount of pain on Frederick’s end.

“I mean, I half expected it. Cressida did say you two were _fucking_ behind closed doors…”

He sneered, eyeing up Libby’s exposed legs as she stood. His tongue purring the curse word violently.

In a movement so fast, none of the three could fully comprehend it, Frederick was snatched up off the floor by his shirt collar and pulled to get a closer look at Benedict’s seething expression, he hunched his back so he could snarl at the sniggering rapist.

“How dare you.”

Ben growled, steeling his face and narrowing his eyes, clenching his shirt with only one hand, the other was balled into a fist by his right side, Libby saw how the veins in his arms were straining against his skin, bursting with unveiled anger.

“What? So you’re not fucking each other? Why, can’t perform in the bedroom, _Ey?_ Cumberbatch…” Fred sneered.

Libby watched, wincing as Benedict delivered another blow to the man’s face, letting his shirt front go as he cried out and crumpled to the ground again. Clutching his jaw that he was almost sure was now dislocated.

“Unless you desire me to break any more of your bones. I suggest you leave this house and never come near it again. Lest you want me to tear your snivelling spine out.” Benedict growled.

“I’d like to see you try!” Frederick growled through pain clenched teeth.

Wrong thing to say, Libby thought. As his anger was provoked further, and Benedict delivered a swift kick to the man’s ribs, the stern force of which, she was amazed didn’t make his chest cave in and give way.

“ARGH! My ribs, you! Broke my bloody ribs.” Frederick howled. Gasping in incredulous pain.

“Fractured them at best.” Ben corrected calmly, still seething in anger.

“Which is much less than you deserve. Now. **_GET OUT!_**. Before I call the police and tell them you attempted raping a girl in her own home, and I can promise you this, the court doesn’t look too kindly on men who assault women. You’ll spend the rest of your snivelling life rotting away in a jail cell until death claims you at old age. And unless you want that to happen, you will leave this instant and never so much as think about Libby ever again. Understood?” He growled.

Frederick scrambled up off the floor, clutching his side, and looking at Libby with a bleeding chin and cheek for a moment with dark eyes, before Ben advanced and that was enough movement to send the man scattering down the stairs and out the front door. They heard him crunch across the drive to his car, before the engine sprang to life, and he rolled away, and out of their lives for good - if he knew what was best for him.

Benedict turned to his Libby, the anger was gone now, traces of it still etched onto his brow, tugging down his wonderful features as he looked at her intently. She felt a lone tear slide down her cheek before a choked sob escaped her lips and she found herself clasped to Ben’s chest as his soothing arms carted over her, caressing her in comfort, warming her in love. He closed his eyes and held her close, just wanting to absorb all the bad and awful things that animal had just done to her. He listened as her sobs were quieted, and she relaxed in his arms. Melting into his rumpled shirt and black trousers that he must’ve changed into after dinner. The shirt was a worn scarlet red colour, and softer under her hands than the crisp white shirt he wore all evening. And from the feel of the fabric of his trousers against her legs, the cloth was heavier than the fine dress trousers he wore to dinner too. He had dressed down in smooth, worn clothes for his comfort. And they were doing a marvellous job of comforting her also.

She pressed a gentle kiss to the side of his cheek. Whispering a hushed “Thank you.” That she poured into his ears with a beholden murmur. Pressing more light kisses to the side of his cheek as she did.

“You don’t have to thank me.” He choked in a whisper. Holding her face in his hands, as the backs of his knuckles brushed her shoulders as he reached up to hold her, he felt her skin scatter with chilled Goosebumps.

He knelt to the floor and scooped up her crumpled dressing gown in his hands, folding it around her cold shoulders, and wrapping her in it, pausing and glaring, gritting his teeth as he saw the places that had been ripped into it by another man’s groping desperate hands. He gently redressed her, tightening the bow around her small waist, before pulling her back close to him again.  
“Let’s get you to bed darling. The sooner we sleep, the sooner we can wake up and forget this awful atrocity.” He murmured softly, folding his arms around her and walking her back along the landing and through the winding staircase to her room. They climbed it silently, and as they entered her lounge, Libby proceeding him, he shut the door after them. Enclosing them in one another’s company and privacy.

He followed her into her bedroom, helping her shuck off the robe and climb under her covers, she suddenly felt very tired, very worn and very hoarse. Benedict folded the covers over her, enveloping her in their softness and gentle scent and warmth. Before he climbed onto her bed beside her, he wouldn’t leave unless she told him too. He wanted to ensure she was alright. She lay on her side facing him, hugging a pillow to her chest as he skimmed the soft skin of his hand over her cheek. She closed her eyes and savoured the touch. Leaning into him. Gently, he saw a small smile return to her beautiful lips.

She grappled the front of his shirt and tugged him down to her so they rested face to face on their sides, content in lazily lying next to one another. His hands folded around her waist, deftly stroking the silk of her hip with one thumb. Plying her skin with love and warmth once more.

“Did he hurt you much?” he asked, hand reaching up and thumbing the red welt the bastard had slapped onto her cheek. It made him sick to think he had resided under the same roof as a man who thought it was reasonable to strike a woman.

She shook her head. “No.” she spoke softly. “I think it was more the shock of the hit that had me frightened.” She explained, smiling as he cupped her face.

“No man is ever going to lay his hands on you like that again. You mark my words, Libby. Never.” He promised intently, meaning every word.

“I know.” She smiled back. Not thinking she need say anything else.

“When we get married…” she started. Watching Ben’s smile grow wider.

“Go on…” he urged, grinning.

“Would we live in the countryside, or in London?” she asked curiously.

“We would live wherever you wanted us too.” He answered, smiling. “Either at Hampstead heath or we can find a large rickety house in the country that we like. I know how much you love it here, and I must admit, I’m partial to gardens we can roam around in, and long walks we can take.” He dreamed aloud softly.

“It’s thrilling to know you like country life as much as I do. But that doesn’t mean we have too, your parent’s are in London, and your job, and what about your mother-“He silenced her with a single digit crossing her lips. Skimming against their pertness as she talked.

“My family, would happily let me move to the moon if they knew I had but happily found a wife.”

She laughed. “The moon?”

“Bit cold at night, but I hear it has stunning views…” he chuckled. She smiled at him.

"The Moon in her chariot of pearl..." Libby interjected, quoting Oscar Wilde. Bens chest stiffened, she really was the perfect woman for him. he loved The Rose and The Nightingale too. He truly believe in that moment that the universe conspired to match them. 

"I adore that story..." he spoke softly.

"Me too." she smiled, hushing the agreement back in a soft tone.

“I think my father will have a hard time believing there’s a man who wants to marry me. I know us women are warned we turn into our mothers with old age, but, I needn’t worry. According to her, I already have the tongue of a stubborn fishwife.” She beamed.

He chuckled, he couldn’t help it. She caused the sound to boom out of him with merriment.

“In which case, you are to be my delectably stubborn fishwife.” He spoke in good humour, winding his fingers through her own.

“You laugh now. In forty years we will probably detest each other as withered old seniors.” She smiled.

“I could never detest you.” He spoke lovingly.

She laughed in disbelief. “We are to spend the rest of our lives bound to one another in holy matrimony, I don’t think we’ll last all those years without me incurring your ire at least once, Benedict.” She spoke in good thought.

He smiled. “Of course you won’t, I’ll be the brainless foolish, wimpy, husband who utters nothing but the phrase ‘yes dear’ to every word you say.” He promised. Letting his voice go whiny at his impersonation.

“You class yourself with as little dignity as that?” she asked, smiling at his aloof manner that only seemed to make itself known to her. And her alone.

“In your company, I do. Yes. I’m a besotted man in that case.” He urged, smiling. She returned his wide grin.

He wound her closer to him in his arms, stroking his hands over her shoulders as they were now pressed chest to chest. He saw her mouth part and her eyes flicker down to his lips as she swallowed. He cupped the back of her neck, and pulled her slowly to meet his lips in a lazy, all-consuming kiss that made his heart skip a beat and his legs go weak. – He was suddenly grateful for the fact he was lying down.

They kissed heatedly and passionately for god knows how long, savouring the taste and feel of the other. Libby’s arm slowly slid around Ben’s neck, and he found himself encouraged to lean over her, kissing her deeply still, pressing her into the soft mattress with the wonderful weight of him. A moan of her desire caused him to summon his willpower and pull back, examining her face for signs of untoward displeasure. But all he found were her stung lips and dark blue eyes blinking back up at him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, gasping for her breath, making her chest swell as he tried not to notice it heaving up and down and setting his blood on fire.

“I was worried I was hurting you…” he spoke, gesturing to his weight atop her own.

“You could never hurt me, you said so yourself.”

She promised, bringing their lips together again, as he moaned raggedly into her mouth as he felt seeping dregs of dark lust overtake gentlemanly logic in his brain.

And so they kissed again. Reunited with the wonderful sensation of each other’s lips, tongues teeth and hot promises of such love being poured from person to person with their hands and their bodies.

Libby pulled away after many minutes, sensing something stir deep within her. She wanted him. She wanted him madly. And desperately.

“Ben...” she swallowed, moaning his name as he rained tiny kisses down the skin of her neck. He pulled back to look at her, sensing she had something else to say to him. Which she did in a soft broken hush of a voice.

“I want you…”


	11. Privacy and Paradise...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Hero and Heroine finally get their long sought after time alone, and passionate all consuming love ensues...  
> Warning: smut be present!

Benedict blinked at her for a few very long seconds, his chest falling and rising rapidly. His brain taking a long while to apprehend her words. She wanted him. Suddenly the very thing that had fuelled his erotic dreams for ten years was right here, under him, offering herself up sweetly like a flower blooming for the sun. And he was just blinking incredulously back at her…

She sensed his hesitation after a long minute of nothing happening, and a cold icy sensation doused the curling warmth and lust that was overtaking her insides. She felt brazen, unclean and foolish for suddenly letting those heated words slip past her lips. His hesitation was a shock to her system, and sensing he was not going to answer her, she placed both hands on his chest and pushed, he was easy to move as he was so lost in thought. She slid out from under him, silently. Sitting on the edge of the bed in shame.

“I’m sorry I just… forgive me that was… intolerably foolish of me, I just thought, we …I…” 

She stuttered, shrinking her back and holding her head in her hands. Through the rather backless cut of her nightgown, Benedict saw the muscles in her back tense in the pale moonlight that flooded over her from the bedroom window. Coating her an ethereal porcelain white. 

Benedict’s eyes blew wide, and his mouth gaped. She thought him pausing for thought was also him rejecting her. How could that be when he had never let himself love another woman that wasn’t her, he wanted her, in the simplest terms, all of her, and he knew that as a gentleman that was unpardonably selfish and rude of him. But right then, he didn’t care if loving her was the greatest sin a man could commit, he would serve the world on a platter for Libby should she ask for it. She was worth every soul blackening sin he could think of, and he would trade aforesaid soul just for one of her kisses. One of her sweet caresses. 

He crawled over to her side of the bed on all fours, resting his chest to her back and sliding his arms down her own, her skin was warmed and peachy soft. His hands grabbing her waist lovingly as his lips graced the gentle skin of her neck by her ear in a way that sent pleasurable shivers wracking down her spine. His hot breath was all she felt, plucking wanting kisses down her neck, followed by even more heated words.

“Libby, Darling. I want you too. I want you something shameful…” he growled hotly into her ear. 

Her eyelids fluttered prettily at his words, before she slowly turned her head to look at him, her mouth agape as she felt the lust thrum through her body once again,

“You do?” she whispered quietly. Asking him in a soft unsure tone.  
“I’ve wanted you for ten long years. I’m sorry if my pause was misconstrued as disinclination, but believe me when I say it was my brain making sure the one thing I’ve wanted half my life was being offered to me in reality, and not as a fantasy. Because my mind has rehearsed you saying that to me over and over and over…” 

He purred, wrapping his arms around her and pouring the loving words into her ear, nuzzling into the warm skin of her neck as he heard her sigh in contentment, her hands linking over his own. 

“You’ve fantasised about, m-me?” 

She sighed, intending it as a question as Benedict’s hands slid wonderfully all over her, down over her stomach, and across the tops of her thighs. Her tone of voice quite unbelieving that she was an object of his desirous imagination.

“Mmm-hhhmmmmm.”

He breathed softly against her neck, nodding, and rubbing the tip of his nose over her thrumming pulse point. 

“Can I be so bold as to ask, what exactly your dreams of me were about?” 

She panted, twisting in his arms to face him, her lips brushing over his own as she spoke, plump wet mouth sliding over one another with scorching sweet breath. His large hands spread over her ribs, holding her form very close to his own body. Stealing her warmth with his practiced fingertips. Robbing her of breath with his clever clever lips. 

“Us. You. Me. Like this, in our bed, making love long into the small of the morning. Waking up together tangled in sheets under some foreign sunrise on every corner of the earth. And sleeping and loving every night under the canvas of different stars.”

He whispered pausing at strategic places to kiss her solidly on the lips. He couldn’t help it. Her lips begged for him to kiss them. 

“And to think, I’ve just imagined what it would be like to kiss you and run my hands through your hair. I feel ashamed of my own fantasies in comparison to yours.” 

She spoke, hearing him chuckle as he shifted them so he could lie atop her again, spreading her legs either side of him, so he could skim his hands down their bare softness as they kissed. And so that she could feel the delicious weight of his body holding her into the bed. 

“Well. I’d take great delight in showing your imagination what it is sorely missing…” 

He promised lustily, hands gliding up under the silken hem of her gown, making her arch in wracks of pleasure as they coursed through her body like tidal waves in stormy seas. Unrelenting, powerful and shamelessly unforgiving. 

“That is…” he paused kissing her collarbone. “If you still want me…” he offered her, making sure this wasn’t just a one sided affair of lust. She’d already been taken advantage of tonight, and he was more than happy to be a slave to her wishes and wait for her, he would not subject himself to the title of a forceful man who assaulted women. 

“Ben, I’ve never wanted anyone else. Yes. Have me. I’m yours…” 

She offered, purring words into his ear with infinite bliss.

As he heard those words, he was sure his entire body went up in flames. He had now heard her heartily give consent for him to take her. His heart was positively singing in happiness, he smiled against the skin of her neck, he now had his life’s desire spread out before him, and she was the sweetest taste of sin to his lips. He could feel her on his skin, and taste her on his tongue. And that was all Benedict had ever wanted. 

“I was going to wait til we were married to do this with you. But I can’t. God help me, I can’t help myself…” 

He spoke huskily, feeling her arch under him as his hand skimmed down her thigh gently, setting her skin tingling and burning with an ever present and aching need for her to be touched by him. Her Benedict.

“OH…” 

She gasped softly as his hand slid higher up her leg, to the junction were they met, softly feeling her with his warm hands, she body bucked up to him, and his lips covered her own. Benedict swallowed hearing her moan, his breath was coming out in ragged spurts, and he could feel his own arousal swell in his body. From the tips of his toes, to the top of his head. He was positively swimming in the emotion, fairly drowning in it. And what a way to die, ravishing the most beautiful woman on this earth. 

Carefully, Libby leaned herself up so she was wrapping her arms around Ben’s neck, kissing him soundly on the mouth as her fingers fidgeted nervously with the buttons on his shirt, she sensed an uncanny strike of nervousness settle in her stomach. 

“May I?” 

She whispered hoarsely, not recognising her own passion enflamed voice as it croaked out words in between large gulps of breath to feed her passion fuelled yet starving brain. 

“Be my guest.” 

He smirked against her lips, tugging his hands through her short hair and kissing her soundly on her wonderful lips again. They were his own private addiction. Some men had drink, other’s had gambling, but, No. His addiction in life, was her desirable, kissable, soft smooth lips. The lips, which he noted with glee, he could spend the rest of his life kissing. 

Her thin fingers hooked each button out of place, and slowly slid the shirt down his arms, following the fabric with the smooth flat of her palm lining his skin. Benedict wasn’t bulkily built, but it would be a mistake to think him powerless. Underneath soft, pale, freckled skin, lay dormant his bulging and fierce muscles, which – proven this evening – were of their own vigorous force indeed. The worn scarlet shirt was tugged gently off his arms, and followed swiftly by Libby mapping out his warm bare skin with her hands, feeling the slight bristle of his chest hair coarsely glide under her palms, sensing every dip and crevice that littered his skin, from the odd little indenting scar, to the even tone of his muscular chest within which his heart fluttered wildly under her hand. Her fingertips also wandered unhindered across every freckle. She smiled as she found her favourite just on his shoulder, just left of his straining neck muscles. Unable to help herself, she broke the kiss, leaving him gazing at her with darkened blue eyes, and, leaning forwards, she placed the most genteel kiss right upon the site where the small discoloured spot lay on his skin. 

His hands clutched onto her back, his head thrown back and his eyes closed as he let out a soft moan. Feeling those lips pluck love onto his skin really did set every nerve of his alight with pleasure. He decided to retaliate, and, both of his thumbs then hooked under the thin silk straps of her gown, and slithered them gently down her shoulders, biting his lip as he let them rest by her upper arms, not wanting to rush her in undressing her for him. He both was torn between wanting to savour it, yet rip her clothes to shreds at the same time for the crime of keeping him from her naked skin. He kissed down over his favourite spots on her throat, and then over her shoulders, grazing his teeth lightly over them, just enough to excite her and so as not to break the skin and cause her pain. 

He was in for a rather pleasant and rapid development, however, as she took a deep breath, bucking up her courage, and slid the gown down the rest of the way, baring her chest the way she had bared his. As the gown lay rumpled over her stomach and now ended at the tops of her thighs as she sat facing him. She breathed slowly in hesitation, seeing his eyes skim lightly over the now exposed expanse of her breasts she had just allowed him to see. But due to the fact her brain was ensconced in lust, she also learned that she didn’t care. 

Benedict allowed himself to take in the sight of her heaving uncovered chest, the fullness of her bust illuminated by godly moonlight, the darkened patches of her nipples and how unnerving it must have been for her to reveal herself to him. He moved his hands to roam gently over the soft mounds of skin, feeling her shudder in pleasure underneath the flat planes of his warm hands. His hands then smoothed over her ribs, crushing her bare chest to his, feeling every warm inch of her pressed up to him in an enticing way. His hands then pressed to her back, and shifted her even closer so she could feel the hardness of his thighs as he sat, and the raging flesh that was straining for attention between his legs for her. 

“You’re beautiful Libby. Like I always knew you would be. You’re wonderful. So wonderful. You needn't feel uncomfortable in your own skin around me, I have nothing but amazement and admiration for your body.” 

He whispered softly into her ear. Feeling her smile against his bare neck as he held her close. 

“I’ve come too far to be shy now.”

She explained, stroking over the warm skin of his back and the hard planes of his shoulder blades. He pulled back and looked directly into her eyes. 

“Lie back.” 

He flirted, smiling handsomely, kissing her whilst laying her gently back onto her soft sheets and pillows. She felt the wonderful weight of him on her again, and he gently picked up her right leg, hooking his fingers under her knee, tickling the soft skin, and bending it so that it was hooked over his hip, and angling her pelvis upwards so that she could feel his arousal against her very core, in a way that only spurred her own onwards. She moaned and tugged her fingers in his hair, as his hands left her leg, and focused on pulling her gown down and off her. Which he did in one fluid motion, throwing it behind him onto the bed, or the floor, he couldn’t be sure. He was far too intent on kissing her. She moaned onto his lips, now completely naked under him as he divested himself of the rest of his clothes. So that they were now utterly matched in terms of bare skin. 

Libby couldn’t explain how wonderful it felt to comfortably curl her naked skin against the handsome man between her thighs. It was, in one word, bliss. She didn't want to move, she found she never wanted to move, she wanted to stay like this, wrapped up in him and his love for eternity. She felt even headier sensations of lust course through her body, feeling this perfectly muscled, pale skinned and freckled man pour love onto her skin so she didn’t feel quite so uncomfortable in her own body. Not with the way he was kissing and loving it. 

Benedict shifted them both, cradling her naked skin in his bare hands, holding the round globes of her thighs as he pulled her up and onto his lap, still not having broken away from her lips. He spread her legs either side of his thighs, so he could rest her small frame on him, now holding her back, raking his fingers down over her shoulder blades, and under her ribs to the sides of her perfect breasts. Still plucking gentle kisses onto her throat as he spoke huskily into her ear.

“This may be uncomfortable and painful at first. But I promise it will only be quick, darling. It will soon turn into the most delicious of agonies. I promise.”

He spoke kindly, her core aligned over his straining flesh, and very slowly, he pulled her hips forwards, sure that this angle would cause her the most minimal pain, and even greater pleasure. He listened as her breath came in stutters, and her arms wrapped around his neck and down his back, as she moaned slightly in pain. But, as he finally reached the pivotal point inside her, he heard her moan transcend into one of pleasure rather than of pain as he started to guide her wonderful rounded hips over his lap, brushing past spots inside her that only trebled her moans.

“Oh my god.” She gaped breathlessly, as he felt her shudder as he moved. It was a full body shiver that wracked her skin with Goosebumps and made her muscles quiver in pleasure. 

He felt her fingers claw into her shoulders, and he was certain in that moment that they had passed the painful point of first time love making. He could now feel his own waves of pleasure leave him breathless, and a slight sheen of sweat decorate his forehead, and back. He could feel her perspire too, along with the way he was wetting her neck with his tongue, making her moan more as his sucking turned to biting. In a way that only fuelled them both on, spurring on their desires.

“Am I living up to your imagination?” She gasped, moaning doubly as Benedict’s wet warm mouth slid over her breast, his tongue doing wonderfully wild things to her nipple in a motion that made her knees shudder. 

She felt his smile, licking his way up between the valley of her breasts, and onto her sternum, trying not to bite her there as she wound her hips in a wide circle in a way that was so scandalously good for him and her both. 

“No. Libby you’re surpassing even the dirtiest thoughts I may ever have had of an encounter like this….” 

Benedict purred, vocalising a loud gruff moan as she continued to slide in circles over him, he gently dug his fingers into her ass and thrust up into her deeply, making them both moan louder. Libby’s toes were curling as she felt pure sinful pleasure make her bones scream with fire. 

“I love the sound of your moans.” 

She confessed, not even the slightest bit ashamed that she was saying such sordid, sleazy words. The pleasure was just too great and too good to feel guilty about vocalising how much she was enjoying it. 

“I love the sounds you make when I kiss your neck. It drives me wild….” 

He confessed, attacking her throat and hearing the exact sound that made his stomach coil in desire and sexual hunger. She swallowed, trying to gain more breath as they both continued to move in tandem pulling moans from each other, which only moved to spur them both on as a result, and soon, everything became fast and uncoordinated, they were both chasing after the same pang of pleasure that was liable to snap inside them both with just a few more movements. 

“Oh god.” 

Ben growled in a low voice, as he felt her stiffen and tighten around him, pulling pleasure from him, whilst giving her own back in equal measure as she felt her muscles taut and tighten for a wave of something that was just threatening to wash over her body. 

“Ben…” 

Libby moaned, her voice pitch going higher as her breath quickened, he kept up his pace, while she carried on moving her hips as that was what he seemed to like so much. He moaned loudly every time she did it. She loved the sounds he made, she loved how she could force him to make them.  
“I. I, oh god, Benedict I-“

He grunted as he moved harder, whispering hurriedly into her ear.

“Oh god. Marry me Libby. Will you marry me?” he grunted sharply, moving into her so deeply.

“Oh god, Ben. Yes. I-“

She started, but as they both gave one final roll of their hips. They both shattered…

Libby thought she was going to scream the pleasure was so great. Every one of her limbs seemed to detach in desire, they sew itself back onto her body again in wave after sheer wave of unpersuadable pleasure. Benedict felt the same, he had never felt something so good overtake his body before, and as he pressed his lips to her own, they both moaned long loud sounds deep into one another’s throats, before Libby was forced to break way as the pleasure was far too much to take unvocalised. Benedict felt inclined that he was going to shout out his own release in a gruff voice too. 

She moaned loudly against his ear, linking her arms around his back that was soaked in a sheen of sweat under her palms. As her hands slid up, she found a few moist curls rest at the nape of his neck. And inhaling deeply to catch her breath, she felt both their bodies’ slick with wet warmth from the chest down, especially where they were conjoined at the legs. Ben felt the trails of beaded sweat that inched their way down her skin, and he kissed his way down her throat to her shoulder, just holding her close to him, savouring her warmth, touch, and scent for as long as he could as the pleasure finally subsided. 

Libby pulled back first, resting her hand on the back of his tresses as she looked deep into his eyes, still panting for breath, and suddenly aware she was awash with tiredness, warmth, sweat and the utter filling sensation of satisfaction. 

She swallowed before she spoke, the loud moans having dried her mouth.

“Yes. Yes I will marry you.”

She spoke, heaving her lips against his own. Kissing quickly as they both could use more oxygen. 

“You know, when I spoke of a proper proposal. I meant getting down on one knee with a ring. Although that way ended much better for us both, I feel.”

Libby smiled.

“I agree.” 

She smiled heartily, hugging and holding him as his hands slid up her back, over her shoulders, stroking hair out of her eyes and away from her wet forehead as he looked at her intently. That was before he chuckled softly. She cocked her head in silent question.

“I’m just choosing my favourite freckle…” he explained, tilting his head and examining her.

“I think.” He started, in a contemplative voice. “I’ll take this one here…” he spoke, pointing and touching the small spot on the left side of her chin with his index finger. “Right by your lips, do you mind?” he asked sweetly. 

She smiled widely.

“I hate that freckle. I think it’s ugly.” She spoke honestly.

He twitched his brows at her disbelievingly.

“I think it’s utterly adorable. How dare you lavish hate upon my favourite spot.”

He spoke, taking her chin in his hand, and leaning her forward so his lips could enclose over the spot, flicking the tip of it with his tongue as she smiled, before his lips were over hers once again. 

“You could sell your freckles. Like they do with naming stars after people. You’d make a lot of men very happy.” He explained, pulling back and seeing her smile. 

She looked utterly glorious right then. Hair mussed, lips stained with his fierce own kisses, eyes dilated, and very much looking like she had just been thoroughly made great pleasurable love too. Which, he supposed so himself, was very true. Plus the ever telling mucky scent of sex was lingering in the air around them. It was a scent of sweat, heat and their combined colognes mixing with one another’s. 

“A freckle constellation?” 

She queried, as they moved to lay chest to chest under the covers as cool air permeated their sweat ridden skin. He folded the covers over and around her, linking his arms around her tiny perfect waist as he did, pressing his palms to her back. 

“My beautifully sexy freckle constellation.” 

Benedict spoke, stroking her spine with his thumb, whilst she carted a hand through his thick hair.

“If you so desire, my wonderfully handsome fiancée.” She spoke. 

“Mmmmnnnnn. And that, my dear, is a point your fierce tongue can never fight me on.” 

He moaned gruffly, smiling wickedly and pulling her close so as they could kiss again.

 

Which they did. Long into the small hours of the morning, whereby they fell asleep in one another’s arms. In pure, uncontended, wonderful bliss….


	12. Sordid Secrecy...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can our Hero and Heroine hide their burning amorous desires? especially away from the eyes of a stern brother and a determined blonde...

Libby gently peeled her eyes open the next morning, blinking them in the powerful bursts of sunlight that poured into her pillow in a square of naked warm light from the window opposite her bed. She felt the light curve over every inch of her, from the bared skin of her shoulders and her sleep drowned eyes that suffered under the beams of light, to the naked skin of her calf. She curled her toes and felt the light travel unhindered over her right foot where the covers had deserted her in the night. She felt the thick covers wrap around her save for that, thankful she wasn’t brazenly displaying herself, she sighed and stretched in her sleep, smiling as she shifted onto her right side, facing into the light as she found contentment in the form of a patch of shade that covered her eyes as the rest of her was bared to the warming sun. She had never known such an unassuming spot of shade could bring her such happiness. Then again, the encouraging sense of pleasure that she found growing in her chest could also be contributed to the large warm and tellingly male palms that were now sliding up her waist and across her naked bare back. 

Her heart burst all over again as she shuffled onto her side and peered over her shoulder to see a living Bernini sculpture smiling back at her, ensconced under the same covers and resting on the same mattress as her. The warmth of the sun was nothing when in comparison to Benedict’s lazy freshly awoken smile, when teemed with those aqua pools of brilliance that were his eyes. She smiled even wider when he did. And even more so when his husky wonderful voice sung into her ears like the finest orchestra on earth.

“I’ve never known happiness like this.” 

He spoke honestly, voice gruff and unguarded. And just sinfully wonderful. Libby smiled and shuffled closer to him, with her chest now facing his as he lay on his side, inspiring her to move closer to him as his big warm hands cradled her naked skin closer, insulating her with warmth and tingling thrashes of pleasure as they roamed so freely their once tracked paths down over her peach like flesh. He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t not have her here, right under his nose in his arms and not touch her. And he knew that once he moved to kiss her, that too was a dangerous thing, as he wouldn’t want to stop that either. 

He reached over when she was pleasingly close enough, and sighed happily as he tucked a few messy stray ends of her mussed hair behind her soft little ears. After which his hand paused on her cheek, to be met by her own reaching up and covering the back of his hand, brushing softly over his knuckles. He forgot how senseless her touch made him. He became a pure addle brained idiot around her. He loved that she could make him do that. 

“Neither have I.” 

She confessed. Her slim fingers curling around his hand before she twisted under his palm, and pressed a gentle kiss to the sensitive underside of his hand. He swallowed as he felt those notoriously wonderful lips pluck a gentle pucker on his hand. His body tensed and he knew he only had one thought ruling his mind right then. 

His hands realised the side of her face, and stole around her possessively, seizing her in their amorous embrace, and a deep growl emanated from his throat as he tugged her across the bed, closing the distance, and crushing her chest and thighs to the front of his in a way that only added kindling to the roaring start of his arousal at feeling her soft flesh in all its entirety compressing against his own body. He felt her arch and smile onto his lips as he kissed her thoroughly. Uncaring for gentle passion, this was a hard hot kiss that made her stomach erupt and her toes curl. And by the time he pulled away a few moments later, she felt ungrounded and weightless, with her lips bruised and her heart and limbs set on fire. 

“We have to be careful otherwise I’ll never let you out of bed…”

He growled in a low voice that made her toes curl almost as much as the kiss had done. She let her teeth bear down on her bottom lip. Feeling promiscuous lust seep into her brain.

“You’re making a scandalous woman of me Benedict…” 

She promised, kissing him back fiercely, looping her arms over his neck and bringing them closer, bare skin to bare skin in an utterly enthralling way. Benedict took a deep inhale against her lips, whilst his fingers began digging into her fantastically knead-able ass, caressing it as he pulled her over to his side of the bed, rolling them both so she was reeled under him and pressed to the cool pillows and sheets on a remote corner of the bed, he loved how a small startled yelp escaped her lips as he moved her. Able to now corner her and run his hands over every inch of her naked body that he had missed in the past 5 or 6 hours. He rather thought he needed to rescind his earlier predicament; it wasn’t just her lips that were his private addiction, and instead it was all of her. From the top of her auburn head to the ends of her perfect toes.

He felt a small palm slide to his neck, and her lips broke away from his savage kiss.

“We should get up before everyone else does, I fear my mother will have a coronary if she knows we were alone and, what we…” 

She paused and let herself be reminded of the mind blowing amount of pleasure their love making had caused her the night before. 

“…Got up to, last night.”  
She finished, resting her hands on his shoulders as his skimmed over her bare chest, flatly rolling the mounds of flesh under his wide palms in a way that made her shudder with ecstasy.

“It may be far too late for that, Darling.”

He explained, ferociously kissing her neck. 

“…We were very loud last night.” 

Ben purred, licking down to her shoulder

“Well. When I say we, I mean you.” 

He winked, taking the muscle of her collarbone in-between his teeth in a way that made her buck up underneath him. 

“Oh Ben…” 

She groaned happily in protest. Linking her arms around his shoulders.

“We have to leave bed sometime. We have things to do. Lives to accomplish. Jobs… families…” 

Libby laughed, fighting her point, and trying not to giggle and thrash as his practiced hands wandered over spots her knew would make her brain turn to soup.

“I’d give those all up to stay in bed with you.”

He purred, exhaling in contentment against her now wet neck due to his amorous efforts.

“Leo and Cressida would go spare if they knew what we did.” 

She pointed out, trying to appeal to his logistical nature that she knew was lying dormant under all the lust. 

“Now. That’s a sure fire way to dampen my arousal. Mentioning that blonde twit.” 

Benedict growled, sitting up and watching as Libby thanked him with a quick kiss to the lips before sliding out from under him and across her bedroom – naked. He noted with delight, seeing all of her glorious skin on full display as she scampered over to where her dressing gown was rumpled on the floor. He sat back in the bed, very content to watch and admire her naked form before she covered it up. 

“I wouldn’t have said it if I thought it would be ineffective.” 

She winked, enclosing her nakedness in her gown in a way that made him severely disappointed. 

“…. And. I promise I will make it up to you.” 

She offered, walking back over to the bed and leaning over to kiss him once more as he reclined on the pillows, watching her greedily with hungry eyes and a general vibe of teasing displeasure.

“I’m intrigued. Please do tell me more…” 

He purred, hands linking around her hips. Her wonderful soft rounded hips that he knew she could use as a dangerous weapon against him if she so chose. 

“I will… promise never to let another man admire my freckles so freely.” 

She offered, hearing Benedict laugh that deep rich throating sound which she adored. And seeing his face crease like the well-travelled lines on a map. 

“Not good enough.” 

He smiled. She carted a hand through the back of his hair.

“Then what can I offer you to sweeten the absence?” 

She proposed, smiling wonderfully. It was a smile that made Benedict want to decipher each of her smiles, dissect them, and study them for a full time occupation. 

“That’s a dangerous offer.” 

He countered, growling lustfully.

“I have a far better idea.” He promised.

“That being?” she spoke, keen to hear. 

“After we’re married. You cannot contest the fact that I will want to keep you in the honeymoon suite for at least two whole weeks.” 

He snarled, smirking like the devil. 

“T-Two weeks?” she gaped, unbelievingly.

“Two weeks.” 

He reiterated his point, winking as he did. 

Libby sighed. 

“Well. I suppose, I must agree to that.” She rolled her eyes, feigning inconvenience. 

He smirked and yanked her closer so that he could kiss her again before he had to leave and return to his own room. And while they kissed, they weren’t privy to the fact that the sun was rising in a clear blue sky, and that the birds were chirping happily outside Libby’s window. Because it didn’t matter one bit to them. They had each other, finally. After ten long years. And as far as they were concerned. Right then. The world ceased to exist around them….

 

 

 

 

~

“Morning Everyone!” 

Libby practically sang, her vocal chords chimed and sparkled as she called sweetly into the kitchen ahead of her. And as she sauntered in, everyone in the kitchen halted their duties to watch her walk into the room. 

She was positively beaming. Her smile so wide that she showed her perfectly straight white teeth off in her pearly smirk. She was all dressed and made up, her hair looked shiny and styled, and she had on a sweep of mascara that made her eyelids flutter in long length over her cheeks when she peered down, a light dusting of rouge across her cheekbones to make her look luminous and aswell as to lend a defined air to her sharp jawline. And her eyes looked bluer than ever and her lips were their usual pink rosiness. She was dressed in a V-necked white silk day dress, which went along perfectly with her slim figure and pale skin. Along with small ivory silk heels that just settled her already slender height at but an average stretched frame for the petite woman. 

Simpy abruptly finished washing her hands in the sink, before drying them and looking startled over her shoulder at Ms Higgs who immediately stopped kneading the dough to bake a loaf of bread for lunch. Eliza, who was arranging an array of fresh flowers in the vase on the kitchen table – also where Ms Higgs was kneading the dough - let her hands fall slack over the fresh tulips and daisies and god knows what else, and looked worriedly at the smiling woman. And last but not least, Parker, who was busy compiling a tea tray to be taken upstairs, placed a small jug of milk on the silver tray before he let himself be inattentive to his duties and the fact that the pot of tea was cooling rapidly, he too staring at the young woman. 

Libby – quite unaware to the concerned glances she was receiving – was tearing through the post idly; still with a large smile on her face. When she looked up and met four very anxious pairs of eyes. 

“What?” 

Libby asked, for the first time that morning. Letting the smile slip from her face. Moved to feeling the need to enquire as to their fretful looks. 

“Why are you so chirpy Jonesy?” 

Higgs was the first to ask, folding her floury hands by her hips, adopting a matronly stance to reinforce her question. 

“I haven’t seen you this happy since you got that new copy of that Dostoyevsky bloke’s book.”  
Eliza offered, still looking wary of her still smiling friend. 

“Yes. That and the fact you don’t like getting out of bed much before ten…”Higgsy said, glancing at the kitchen clock which read 8:34am.

“I. had a good night’s sleep is all.” 

She laughed disbelievingly, trying so hard not to let herself blush and release the fact what she just said was in fact a big fat lie. 

“That explains why you look so…radiant…” 

Simpy suggested. To which Parker gave a gruff grunt. 

“Yes. And why you can’t seem to stop smiling like you’re concealing a rather large secret…” 

The Butler added in a curious tone. 

“Oh, did I tell you yesterday. Benedict was in a most odd mood….” 

Simpy explained to Ms Higgs and Eliza, who slowly revisited their chores. Eliza returned to the flowers, and Higgsy carried on kneading the dough for lunch. Though they did it with still the slightest inclination of inquisitiveness towards the unusually happy girl.

But as Libby’s ears pounced upon the sound of Benedict’s name, she broke the busy silence.

“What mood? How was he being odd? I mean did he…”

Libby asked, desperately wanting and trying to appear calm and composed. Even though the sound of his name made her heart beat accelerate to inhuman speeds. Goodness, she could never order ‘eggs benedict’ again for the now ever present fear of having a coronary due to the thrilling excitement of the mere mention of his name.

“He was acting most bizarrely. Leaping and prancing around, all moony eyed and smiles, muttering something about all consuming love…” 

Simpy waved off with a flick of her hand as she organising the toast rack and dishes of scrambled eggs that were to be taken upstairs for breakfast with the tea tray Parker was carrying. 

Libby beamed, and all four members of staff became inquisitive once more.

“Really? Moony eyed?” 

Libby asked in loving astonishment. Looking not all that far from dreamy eyed herself, in that moment. 

She cottoned onto the fact that she was being examined with curious glances once more.

“I i-I just… Can’t imagine him being, well – moony eyed, it certainly doesn’t sound like Benedict...” 

She corrected, cheeks reddening as she stuttered. Loosing that air of equanimity that she was barely managing to grasp onto by the skin of her teeth. 

Thinking she had barely recovered from the blatant untruths she was concealing, she watched as Simpy loaded up the tea tray and handed the breakfast to Parker, who hoisted it up into the air and swiftly carried it out of the room as he ascended the stairs. His posh clipped voice breezed a sentence as he swooped past her.

“Your cheeks are quite red, Miss Jones. No one likes a liar.” 

He smiled quietly, watching the woman’s face pale and drop at his teasing tone. She gaped as he moved, walking past her. 

“Oh Eliza, did you place the laundry in all the guest rooms this morning?” Simpy asked.

“Yeah. All those sodding frilly dresses of that Cowper woman’s, three shirts for Leo and two of Benedict’s.”

Eliza spoke, again, and Libby found her ears still leapt at the sound of his name. But no more so than Eliza’s next sentence…

“It was most bizarre though. Benedict’s bed didn’t even look like it had been slept in. He hadn’t so much as mussed the sheets even...” Eliza spoke. 

“How strange…” Simpy spoke. 

The post nearly dropped out of Libby’s hands. 

She bent down to pick it up, aware her cheeks were very burning red. Turning over her shoulder to look at Eliza to see the young housemaid had very wide eyes.

“Oh my lord.” Eliza spoke in a hushed voice. 

“Eliza, what is it?” Simpy asked the gaping young maid.

“Eliza…” Libby urged pulling the woman out of the back door and into the garden.

“OH MY GOD! YOU DIDN’T! YOU! AND HIM!?...”

“SSSSHHHHH…” Libby urged.

She tugged Eliza outside, shutting the back door as she flapped her hands around and smiled widely. 

“You and Benedict?” she asked 

“Yes.” Libby smiled, as Eliza launched into hugging her friend. 

“Well. What happened? I mean…” Eliza asked.

Libby tried not to purse her lips in a smile.

“OHMY GOD! YOU DID IT??!” Eliza screeched happily

“SSSHHHHH!” Libby pleaded through a smile so Simpy didn’t hear.

“Oh my dear lord.” Eliza started.

“How long have you been, you know?”

“It all happened yesterday after he arrived. By the pond, at dinner, then we…kissed…. And everything just went on from there, and, and….. I love him.” 

“Oh my god.” Eliza cooed, holding her friend by the arms as they both smiled widely.

“You’re going to be married and have kids and grow old, Oh god that is so romantic.” Eliza cried happily. 

“But. You cannot let the others know. My mother knows and so does Leo, but my father doesn’t and neither does Cressida.” She spoke in a hushed voice. 

“Ok. Oh if that blonde floozy tries to do anything to spoil you two, you’re gonna have to let me tear her hair out.” Eliza growled, sounding deadly serious. 

Libby tried not to let herself laugh at her friend’s winningly loyal streak that was engrained onto her bones.

“Thank you for the vote of loyalty, but no hair tearing is necessary if she doesn’t do anything.” Libby urged. 

“Alright. Well. I have to take the flower’s upstairs to your mum. But. I’m really happy for you Libby. Truly I am. He’s a kind man and your deserve happiness. And each other.” 

“Thank you Eliza.” Libby spoke, watching as she slipped back in the kitchen. 

Libby stood out in the garden for a while, letting the wind ruffle her hair and the sun warm her skin. Feeling content and very tellingly happy. As per the wide smile on her lips and the warm tingling that echoed throughout her limbs. She could tell today was going to be a good one. 

 

 

~

 

 

Benedict strode into the conservatory, feeling like a man who was very much on top of the world. He could not, no matter how hard he tried, could NOT wipe the smile off his face. 

He made his way through the house fairly quickly, the memories of last night adding a confident spring to his step, he hadn’t felt this good in years. He never recalled a time he had slept better, so soundly. And then when he woke up next to her, in her bed, he was rather inclined to feel that was what heaven felt like. If he could die a happy man from spending one night with her, then after spending the eternity of his life with her, he was sure to be the richest and most overjoyed man in the history of the world. 

He saw Parker sweep into the conservatory ahead of him, carrying a large tea tray, presumably loaded with a wonderful breakfast if Simpy had her way about it, she made the best scrambled eggs this side of London. He walked through the door and into the large glass orangery that was just barely beginning to be warmed by the powerful rays of sunlight. 

Sunlight…

His mind flashed back to the erotic image of Libby reclining in the warm rays of sun in her bed, clothed only by the corner of the bed sheets, and how brilliantly she smiled when he touched her naked back and then turned to him. 

He blinked and swallowed, a sly smile stretching out his lips as he thought of her. Naked. In bed with him. And he knew that was far from a gentlemanly form of behaviour. But, he recognised that shamelessly, he didn’t feel the least bit guilty about it. And that made him smile all the more. 

He let his smile die down to a leer that wouldn’t cause alarm when he walked into the conservatory to face Leo, who was reclined on a wicker chair in amongst large exotic green plants, with dark bags under his eyes that weighed his face down like the heavy saddlebags on a horse, he hadn’t shaved either. His jaw freckled with stubble, and he was dressed in last nights rumpled dinner wear. He looked rough, and tired, especially as he was cradling a cigarette between his lazy fingers and was thanking Parker as the Butler unloaded a large breakfast of toast and eggs and a pot of tea onto the table in front of him. 

“Rough night Leo?” Ben asked worriedly, relaxing on an upholstered wicker sofa that groaned as he sat upon it. 

Leo let one eyebrow twitch upwards in an inaudible answer as he stubbed out his cigarette, and placed another between his lips. Thanking Parker as he moved off. Benedict watched as Leo dragged a hand through his hair, making his dark curls stand to riotous attention on his head. His hair looked like he had done that many times during the night. 

“Can I fetch you anything for Breakfast, Sir?” Parker enquired to Benedict, bowing his head politely. 

Benedict’s stomach pounced at the mention of food, and he realised as it squirmed and complained at him, that he was famished. 

“Would you kindly implore Simpy as to a larger portion of my usual, thank you Parker.” He spoke softly. 

He stretched the large portion, side of things as his stomach grumbled wildly.

“Between you and me, Sir, I think she is busy cooking it as we speak in anticipated preparation.” Parker smiled thoughtfully. 

“What a wonderful Housekeeper this house has.” Benedict smiled. “Thank you.”

“Sir.” Parker nodded, before moving away and back down to the kitchens. 

“Hungry?” Leo asked, the first word he had spoken to his friend that morning. Looking over at him beyond his cigarette, with his easy old smile.

“Famished.” Ben answered easily with a smile.

Leo took the teacup in his hand, downing the hot contents in one. Wincing as he placed it down, letting the caffeine try and wake him up, and make him more alert. The scorching heat of it making his teeth ache. 

“Leo, what’s troubling you?” Ben asked quietly, hating seeing his friend look so pained. 

Leo sighed, carting his hand over his forehead.

“Last night, with father, gave me a bit of a scare, is all.” He confessed, knowing he could state secrets to his oldest friend in easy confidence.

“I probably didn’t help with confessing my love for your sister…” Ben uttered with a sinking heart. Feeling very ashamed all of a sudden. 

“I’m not upset over that, you complete twit! I’m overjoyed for you both, if but only a little territorial…” he confessed, narrowing his eyes, and sounding remarkably like his usual teasing self. 

Benedict laughed. 

“Come on, you’ve known me for ten years, old boy. You know you needn’t be territorial. If I do say so myself, it’s better for her than being married off to a lecherous oaf, like the Phillip’s son.”

His hand unconsciously tightened into a fist at the mention of his name. 

“That’s very true.” Leo concluded. Growling at the mention of the boor’s name. In the same boat as ben for hating the revolting sod. And that was without the measured weigh up of him assaulting Libby. Which Ben would conceal for her sake. And for Frederick’s own safety’s sake. 

“But I will want to clarify with you some points which you cannot go back on… Lest I withdraw my approval.” Leo warned, pointing a stern finger at Benedict.

“Point away.” Ben joked, yet being perfectly serious at the same time. 

“You are to give Libby everything she desires, short of madness and illegal acts.” Leo started. 

“I was going to do that anyway…” Ben implored his friend. 

“What else?” he continued, as Leo searched his brain. 

“You will not smother her, let her be her own woman, not some petty housewife.”

Ben tilted his head at Leo in an inaudible disbelieving look.

“Ok. I admit, that was idiotic of me. What am I saying, that’s woman’s more fierce and stubborn than me. She’s like a bloody donkey…” Leo muttered quietly.

Benedict frowned. 

“Did you just call my future beloved a donkey?” he asked, mocking anger. 

“She’s my kid sister. It’s allowed. Matter of fact its mandatory.” Leo promised with a smirk. 

“Don’t make me fetch my arms and duel you on the lawn for impugning her honour.” Benedict warned with a smile.

“You must make sure she finds a job which she adores, but you must make sure that she earns it, she would be damn offended if she thought it was just being handed, or served to her as a passage of her social standing as your wife.” 

“She may solicit my office for an occupation as a freelance illustrator, and she can pick and choose who she works for, and where she works. I will help her as much I can, but not to the degree of mollycoddling. Next?” Benedict promised.

“Not that I particularly want to think about this, but you will not ravish her whilst under this roof. You may do whatever you please on your wedding night and not a day before. Understood?”

Benedict felt, in that moment like a guilty sleaze. A terrible, betraying, backstabbing, dirty, unclean sleaze. But, he supposed, Last night was his and Libby’s intimate little secret. She would never dream of telling her brother about it, and neither would he. Their secret was safely concealed, and what Leo didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. (Much. If Ben was lucky…)

“Of course.” He complied, trying not to let his voice wobble as he lied to his friend. 

“And, you will get married in England, in Oxfordshire, and not elope to Paris or Rome or some other far corner of the earth to be wed.”

“I rescind my earlier statement, of course. My parents will very much want to attend their only son’s wedding” Ben said agreeably. 

“And mine their only daughter’s. Who, it has to be said, was something of a marriage pariah before you came along. Ok….” Leo corrected, moving onto his next point. 

“When the proper time comes for you to have children, you will do so within wedlock. And one of them has to have my middle name. Upstanding only, of course, if it’s a boy.”

“It could be a girl’s name?” Ben teased, seeing Leo throw him a stony glare. 

“On very thin ice, Cumberbatch, very thin, when it comes to my sister. No more smart remarks.” Leo growled.

Benedict smiled widely, suddenly feeling for all the world like a naughty schoolboy being rapped on the knuckles for appalling and immature misconduct. 

And that was something that he hadn’t even had time to let cross his mind before. The subject of children. Of course he wanted them someday, he adored kids. And he was always told by friends or distant family who had children, that he was rather talented with them. Transforming his usual placid and friendly self, into a goofy, funny and pleasing uncle, or crazy godparent. He was stern, with just the right amount of fun. He could lose his inhibitions as an adult around children, and be stupidly and brilliantly mad in their company. Going from sensible gentlemanly businessman to child friendly madman in the blink of an eye. And when the thought of having children with Libby crossed his mind, he suddenly felt very happy, and like his heart had enlarged three sizes. He could picture what their baby would look like, with a wild disarray of red curls and brilliant compulsory big blue eyes that every baby seemed to possess. When he thought of what a wonderfully loving mother Libby would be to her children, being the type of parent – unlike her own – she would encourage them to read books at the table (like she never could and was told off for doing so) and play outside in fresh sunshine and green countryside. She would go along with all of their wild fantasies, and play along with their stories, telling wild tales of her own that made them clamour for more. She would love them so tenderly and with all of her heart, that it made him picture her with a large round belly as she would grow heavy with child, and how glowing she would look, twice as radiant as she would usually. And that image made the entireness of his insides feel warm and pleasant. And he suddenly very much wished he could start his life with her right away. Marry her by tomorrow, see the world with her, and then settle and start a family and the enduring ease of growing old together. Retreating from the world, having their own one all to themselves. 

It sounded glorious. And like everything he ever wanted. 

“Middle name for our first son. I promise.” Benedict smiled happily.

“And last but not least. You must be present for every family birthday, funeral, anniversary, holiday and even just social occasions by Libby’s side as the doting husband. Never is she to feel alone and uncared for unless she herself wished so. Is that understood?” 

“Yes. I will outdo my very best to keep her happy. I swear on my life.” Ben vowed with a resolute smile.

“So to recall, for the sake of understanding, that was;  
One – Anything she desires. Two – she is not a petty housewife. Three – earns a job she adores with minimal help from me. Four – no ravishing until authorized to do so. Five – Married in England. Six – middle name of male child to be Leo, said child having been consummated at a proper time and within wedlock of course. And finally, seven – present for every event on her social calendar short of my own funeral.”  


Benedict smiled, counting them off on his fingers as he went. Looking over for Leo’s approval when he finished.

“Very good. I don’t appreciate the sarcasm on the end of seven, but I suppose I won’t hold that against you.” Leo said gravely, smiling easily at the end of his words.

Benedict watched as Leo’s face broke out into a wide smile.

“… Oh go on then. You can have her. I wish you the best of luck though, I really do.” 

He sighed in exasperation that Ben knew he was putting on, as he knew his friend couldn’t part with his sister to anyone less worthy...

The men leaned forwards, smiling, and shook hands. Sincerely. As friends and as brothers in law to be.

Benedict made himself a solemn promise from that moment that he was going to outlive the promise and meaning of worthy. If just for the sake of keeping Libby happy, and proving to Leo that he was a saint among men for Leo’s kid sister.

~

 

 

 

 

 

Libby decided to treat herself to a lovely long languorous morning, pouring through the torrades of stacked books in the library. Truth be told this was the room in the house where she spent most of her time, it always had been and it always would be. Ever since she was a young girl, she would wander in here on days when she was lonely or bored, and she soon quickly found, at the ripe age of 10, that she preferred the company of dusty leather bound books with their authentic and veritable legions of words, that she could always rely on to be virginally scrupulous, and always blindingly bolstering to her wounded spirit when she needed them most. She could rely on books, she could always know she could rely on the bound and written word. Even during times of crisis when she felt at her most panicked, and frightened and couldn’t turn to her mother, father or brother for help. She knew she would always be welcomed into the thick pages of books, she could wrap herself in scores of words and know she was going to be ok. If she felt upset, and moved to tears, she just knew in her gut that there would be a book, in here, somewhere, that she could tear into with frenzied care and pour her feelings onto their understanding pages, and let lulling libretti’s soak up her weeping whilst they instilled her with their luxury and care. And they were there for her too, even when she was happy, so overwhelmingly so that she caressed their pages with love, and sang her elated emotion onto pages which mirrored her joy right back at her with warming delight, knowing, that in a very two sided way, they were sharing so much and making each other so happy. Books had seen more life burst out of her with all consuming passion than she had let any other human being she knew see from her. And they had always, undeniably and without fault or shame on their trusty behalf, been there for her. From the children’s tales and fables that became part of her identity as she grew up, and there for her as she reached her adolescence, and yearned for books that would be unscathingly honest with her, relentlessly so, in their screaming ruthlessness through which she could learn how ugly and unkind the world could be, but in the soft and gentle ways in which the books told her this, she always felt they did it with a hint if reassurance, and a pinch of strengthening encouragement that would bolster her anarchic views. And they still defined and shaped her now, as an adult. When she would take great delight in their ways and truths, and complex meanings that weren’t perhaps always clear at first to her.

She had skipped breakfast after sharing her and Benedict’s intimate evening details with Eliza, insisting she wanted to selfishly mull over her own thoughts for a while, Benedict and Leo were supposedly taking a drive into town to acquire new antiques for Leo’s office in New York, She smiled in distain on hearing her brother insist that he could have no ‘yank’ furniture, and that instead he wanted ‘sturdy British craftsmanship.’ Benedict had laughed, and his eyes had gleamed with humour as he agreed to accompany Leo. Mother was assigned to her study to rest her nerves for a while, and Cressida was washing her hair, so she had said. Libby really was entirely left to her own devices, and, she didn’t mind it one bit. The family library was her safe haven. 

She had toed off her shoes, and let her bare feet pad across the soft rugs which insulated the cold pine wood floors. She especially loved the novelty of old houses, with creaky stairs and whining bare wood floors, with drafty doors and old wide windows. She adored unbearable cold winter mornings in old houses, with freezing toes and chilly floors. It was her favourite thing to do, on such mornings, as the curl up on her window seat against the frosty glass, shielded from the cold as much she could with thick woolly socks and a worn blanket, with a warming cup of tea and her favourite novel, Wuthering Heights to read (for roughly around the hundredth time) 

She had decided to favour some modern literature for the time being, which was kept high on the middle bookshelf from the door. She rather favoured F Scott Fitzgerald as of late, especially that of his first novel, ‘This side of Paradise.’ She loved the mysterious, radical, and unassuming character of Amery Blaine, and she adored the frivolity of his mother’s character, for when the reader of the book was introduced to her, they were introduced to her as;

“But Beatrice Blaine! There was a woman...” 

She admired with great envy that of which a woman could be introduced in such a way without the promiscuous subtext, and the quelled revulsion in the footnote to such a fleeting disreputable figure. She rather favoured that was the way in which she dreamed of being introduced, as an impressive individual of courageous standing. Not as another petty pretty debutante style girl, with a head full of sawdust and as much social contribution as a pea brained barnyard animal. She had grand visions of sweeping into a ballroom party, and turning heads in her direction – in a vision in which she would have a vastly inflated ego – looking wonderful in some backless gown, and blowing men and women alike away with her charm and converse. She smiled to herself as she slid books around on the shelf, idly caressing their hard bound spines with her fingertips, she supposed in a moment of downfall, that’s all that vision was to be, a dream. A mere wish. 

She was so caught up in her reverie, and the soft music she had let crave away its melody carved its steady tune away through the room, sweeping dutifully across every pine wooded, shelved and polished surface. The thrumming and lazy tune of Julie London’s purring voice strung its way throughout the room rather loudly, so Libby could only feel the base as her heartbeat, and the soft voice as if it were swooping around her body instead of her bloodstream. So occupied, was she, by the music and the books, she barely noticed the door opening and closing – and quietly locking – behind the unseen character.

Nor did she hear the soft, barely audible footfalls of the slender figure until they came to rest a safe distance away behind her back, so that she still couldn’t sense them. The mystery figure smiled, eyes cocking over to the gramophone, visually congratulating the music as it allowed their silent and unnoticed entrance, flicking back to the young woman before them. Also seeing that the swathes of books ahead of her were also to be thanked for their artistic thievery of her attention. The figures teeth sank into their bottom lip, attempting to conceal a wide smirk as they placed one hand across her eyes. Hearing her gasp.

Libby’s breath left her lungs in a skittish and startled gush of air, parting her lips as the single large hand enclosed over her eyes, she could feel her eyelashes tickle the stranger’s soft palm. Her skin was touched by their warm fingers, with their calloused tips that she recognised. And as her eyes were still covered, and her own hand met the back of theirs, she felt warm breath slide sensually down her shoulder from a marvellous pair of lips near her neck. 

And as they removed their hand, slithering away from her eyes to rest on her right hip, and the unimpeded sight revealed a bright red rose placed in front of her face, holding it out to her, she smiled as she know knew it was no stranger at all.

“Here, indeed, is the true lover. What I sing of, he suffers; what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market place. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.” 

Libby laughed as he spoke the hushed words into her ear beautifully. More beautifully than any sweet sing she had heard, more so than any glorious sunrise she had gazed at. He was quoting ‘The Rose and The Nightingale’ by Oscar Wilde to her, her, and now their favourite story. She reached out and softly plucked the rose from Benedict’s hand, taking it into her own. She admired it, lifting the sweet petals to her nose to savour its sweet scent. Turning in his arms to face him.

“Now, I am ashamed to say, I didn’t use my hearts own blood to stain the petals red. In a far less romantic way, they were procured after breakfast, I sent Eliza out into town with funds to fetch them for me. The bartering agreement being that she would buy half a dozen, and I would take one. I believe the rest are in a vase in her room.”

Libby sighed sweetly, moaning in pleasure. 

“A true lover and a kind heart. How blessed am I?” 

she smiled, curling an arm around his neck and bringing their bodies closer together, his hands rested on her silk clad waist, keeping her equally as close as she was keeping him. They were both guilty of passionate selfishness in that moment. Both sacrificing propriety to greedily place themselves near one another.

“I’ve been asking myself the very same thing.” 

He admitted. Winking and drawing her ever closer, needing to feel her pressed against him again. 

“My my. Well, flattery will get you everywhere, Mr Cumberbatch. It is your biggest bargaining point.”

She promised flirtily. 

“Really? ……. Hmmm.” He spoke in quiet disbelief 

“I would rather have thought this was my largest, and most effective bargaining point...” 

He purred in a low voice that they both knew meant something scandalous was assured to follow. And she was quite right in thinking that, as his hand left her hip and cupped her neck, drawing his hot lips onto her own quickly with urgency so as she couldn’t protest. But why ever would she, when she was being kissed like this?

His lips stroked against hers wildly, in only a familiar way which she now associated with that utterly sinful cupid’s bow of his. The cut-out-of-the-hillside lips which could be her disgraceful undoing, she just knew it. Especially after last night’s bedroom events, know she knew what him and those lips were capable of, it made it all the more dangerous know that she knew exactly how much blissful pleasure they could bring her. She felt his hands. His large, powerful, strong and lean fingers, which were all affixed and proceeding a wide soft palm, a palm that the circumference of which easily dwarfed her own, and was capable of making her feel protected and loved, but also pleasured and filled to burst with ecstasy – again here was last night as a fine example – and yet, they could be dangerous and fatal if he chose to use them that way. She moaned happily onto his lips, feeling the wondrous hands as they came to rest on her backside, clawing into her so as their hips clashed together as a result, at which her head went light and thought free – and she knew he would just burst with laughter if he knew he had won the hard battle of making her absent-minded – and in a way that made her want the kiss to last forever, a never ending embrace to trap them both. 

She felt his body tense and stiffen as he pulled his lips away and exhaled in ecstasy against her cheek, one of his hands sliding up to rest at the delicious curve of her spine, where her back dipped inwards into a soft crest that he wanted to explore completely with his hands, lips, and eyes. 

“I need to find myself an antidote for kissing you.” 

Benedict growled against her cheekbone as his lips ran along the stiff bone of her jaw. She smiled, closing her eyes as she felt the heat of his breath, awash with the scent of tea and peppermint. 

“Such sinful actions we’re committing considering we’re not supposed to let the blonde pariah find out about us.”

Libby explained, holding the rose in her hands as she stretched her arms straight across his shoulders, causing him to place a gentle kiss to the insides of her elbow joints that bracketed him.  
“Why do you think I locked the door behind me…?” He purred, scanning down her frame, feasting lustily on the sight of her with his eyes. 

“Wicked, Wicked man.” 

She chided, kissing him again. Looping her fingers through his hair feeling the thick tresses part beneath her fingers, silkily sliding through her hand with ease. 

“A Monster of your own creation, Ms Jones.”

He growled back to her, smiling wickedly as his eyes darkened, and his hand toyed with a stray strand of auburn hair on her forehead. 

“Mn. Besides…” She began in protest, eyes gleaming with curious confusion. “I thought you were going out to help Leo buy antiques…”

He smiled, sliding his hands over her bottom, causing her to bite her lip and unexpectedly wriggle into him as he squeezed aforesaid area in his large palm. 

“I was intended too, certainly, but your mother thought herself more suited to the task than I… She knows better than I do how to decorate a room.” 

As he spoke, his hand left her rear, and slid into her own, spreading his wide hand to hers, looking at the difference between her slender digits and his own. Feeling how soft her skin was when in comparison to his calloused and worn flesh. His eyes lazily dissected all the difference’s, calculating them in his head as is voice continued to rumble his explanation. 

“That she does I suppose…”

“Anyway. I don’t care why I was left behind. I would far rather spend valuable hours, alone, with you than with some dusty items of furniture.”

“You mean you wouldn’t care to spend time with my brother, your best friend for over 11 years?” she contradicted. Smiling in that heavenly way she did.

“Well. He’s not quite as good at kissing me as you are…” 

Benedict joked, Libby let herself laughed and cocked her head at him. Silently begging him to be serious. But not all entirely meaning it. 

“Look...”

He started – after he had finished rumbling with laughter at his words.

“I have, as you rightfully said, spent 11 years being friends with Leo. What I haven’t, however, is spent 11 years being able to kiss you, hold you and love you (and do dangerously filthy things to you behind locked doors) and I may have had half my life with Leo. But I want the long remainder of my time on this earth to be with you.” 

Libby smiled, and so, she let herself be kissed. Wonderfully kissed, she might add… And by this wonderful man.

His hands found themselves all over her again, magnetised to touch her whenever he had the chance too. 

He walked her along with him, pulling her gently by her trim waist, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the upholstered sofa, at which she yelped onto his kiss and his smiling lips as she found herself now atop him, reclining on the sofa as a passionately embraced pair. She moaned and pulled herself up on her hands, drawing her weight away from the top of him. Her palms flat on the sofa either side of his torso. 

“I’m afraid my weight may hurt you-“

“It really isn’t.” 

He gabbled quickly, voice damn near gravelly and growling in the pain of being un-kissed by her, kissing her hurriedly to stop more of her verbal protests. One Hand snuck to the back of her head, and the other cradled the small of her back. Pinning her close.

Assured her weight wasn’t hurting him, she relaxed onto his chest, smoothing her hands down his fine shirtfront, today he was wearing a white shirt, with a trimmed black waistcoat and black tie, he had rolled the sleeves of the white shirt up to his elbows. Her palms slid down his toned torso feeling the malleable crisp softness of his shirt and silk lined waistcoat, she knew it was silk, as her finger dipped dangerously along the underside of it, slipping along his stomach, feeling the warmth from his skin seep through. She felt him smile and she ceased her exploration of his garments as her palm settled flat against his chest as he spoke.

“Minx.” 

He growled, beaming, as the gramophone continued to blaze songs throughout the room. It was a live recording of Nina Simone at the New Orleans common, singing ‘House of the rising sun.’ It was a soft, slow piece of music. Alive with thrumming base notes and a low melodic voice, that drawled out emotional pain through the speaker. 

Ben and Libby slowly let themselves stop kissing one another, and smile gently, softly looking into each other’s eyes in silence, Ben let his head fall back onto a cushion, one arm behind his head, and one hand kept on her back, as Libby pressed both palms to his chest, and let her head lay between her flat palms, ear pressed just to his sternum. 

“I want to spend the rest of life’s small silences with you, Ben.” 

Libby began, not moving her head from where it laid.

“Every conversation that dries up, every slow song that I pause to listen too, every audible gap I can find. I want to fill with you.” 

“Now who’s leaving who, speechless?” Ben spoke after a long few seconds with a lazy smile. 

“I can’t wait til we can get to do this, for hours on end. In our home. Completely alone and undisturbed. Just us, us and sweet privacy.” 

Ben said, shattering the silence that ironically settled after her heart-warming words. 

“Us without my brother chaperoning our every move. And our entire life’s plan if I might add.”

Libby spoke. Rolling her eyes. 

“Did you get the talk too?” Ben asked, smoothing a palm up and down her arm.

“I got the full Gettysburg address from him.” She said gravely, to which Ben laughed. 

“I can relate to that. I wonder just exactly how far he planned ahead for...” Ben wondered. 

“You do know, as soon as my father gives his approval, we can completely disregard his silly rules…” Libby smiled. 

“Will your father give his consent?” 

Ben spoke in a tiny timid voice, swirling patterns with his finger on her pale skinned shoulder. 

“Why would he not. A kind, Handsome, wealthy man is offering to keep his infamously loud mouthed daughter. I imagine he’ll leap with joy - should his health permit him.”

Libby explained, touching her hand softly to his cheek. Trying to soothe away the crease lines of worry on his brow. 

“It’s just a petty fear of mine, his refusal. But it’s nowhere as big and as real as the fear of losing you to it.” He admitted, looking worried.

“He won’t disapprove Ben. He thinks you polite, well spoken, well mannered, and he likes you very much. He’s known you for nearly as long as I have, and if he still doesn’t see how marvellous you are, then, I will spend the rest of our lives persuading him otherwise.”

He smiled, hearing her passionately defend his mannerisms, and their coupling. And words deserted him, as he found all he could do was smile right then. 

“You really are giftedly stubborn. You know that. I pray any children we have don’t inherit that trait. They’ll be completely unreasonable.”

She smiled.

“Then I shall think them inflexibly winning on any point.” She spoke, to which Ben smiled. 

“Come to think of it, Notorious, would be your summarisation as a mother. But I have an uncanny feeling they would love you for that.” 

He moved to stroke a gentle hand down her cheekbone.

“Just like I do.” 

Ben smiled, leaning forwards to lazily kiss her once more. When they broke away again after many moments. They were enclosed in silence once more. And they both rather enjoyed it.

 

 

~


	13. Niceties...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where the determined blonde really comes into play, with all guns blazing..... Can our Hero be moved to action to save his and our Heroine?.......

Hours later, After Ben and Libby – reluctantly – thought it best to part company. (With many chaste ‘just one more’ last kisses) As Leo and Mrs Jones returned from their venture out of house. To find Benedict lazily reclining on a sofa in the sun warmed conservatory, flicking through a book. Whilst Libby was downstairs, helping out – and gossiping – with Eliza in the kitchen. Mrs Jones just gave a sly smile and wished them both a good afternoon. Leo, far less unconvinced, told Ben his hair was mussed and his tie was askew. – also Leo pointed out in a growl that he didn’t think Libby’s shade of cerise pink lipstick was really intended to be Ben’s colour….

 

They were all to take Lunch out on the veranda by the shade of the old oak tree near the pond. And as Libby strode out the back of the house, she saw with sinking disappointment that Cressida was reclined on a wicker chair, sipping genteelly on a cocktail, and very much looking like she wanted to be anywhere else. Libby couldn’t help herself but half marvel and appreciate the fact she wanted to be elsewhere. She would hate it, with the fury of hell she felt inclined to add, if the awful chit felt at home here.

 

And so the sun shone determinedly through the greenery on the trees, birds chirped their songs merrily, and Libby, unlike Cressida, felt completely at home. She could feel the wind rustling up its warm fuss about her skin, and the sun felt persuaded to reach out and freely touch her bare arms and legs that weren’t covered by her dress. She wandered happily over the lawn to where Cressida was busy not enjoying her whiskey sour, and plastered a serenely fake smile on her face as Libby arrived.

 

“Afternoon Cressida…” Libby mustered sweetly.

 

“Is it? I would have barely noticed in this abominable heat.”

 

She fussed, swiping cool air over herself with the aid of a hand held fan.

 

Libby took that as the most polite greeting she was going to get out of the woman. She slid out a wicker chair, and eased herself onto the upholstered seat. Groaning in delight at the warm rays of sun that ran along her skin.

 

“Well. I thought country life to be a no good bumpkin sort of affair, but after last night, I may have to reconsider my views on you country lot…”

 

Cressida voiced, lighting up a cigarette that she held captive between her manicured and polished fingers, and blood red talons of nails.

 

“I’m sorry?” Libby frowned, still with a polite smile, not quite understanding the intent behind her words.

 

“All that frightful business with your father, I thought it was terribly exciting for a plain evening in the country.”

 

Cressida smiled, exhaling smoke purposefully in Libby’s direction. Try as she might to tear the cigarette from between her lips, and slap her across the face hard for saying such abominable things about her father falling ill, she didn’t. She blinked politely and let herself smile all the more. Her expression the perfect façade of calm, even though beneath, her blood was reaching boiling point. Three minutes she had been out here, Cressida Quinn really was dangerous for one’s health.

 

“Is that right?” Libby asked.

 

“Oh quite. I thought we were all to sit around politely and talk about niceties and how the stock market was doing. I didn’t think there would be actual drama to discuss.” She sneered, sounding inanely satisfied by last night’s proceeding’s.

 

“Well. Perhaps us country lot are capable of more drama than you may think, Cressida.”

 

Libby snarled with a smile. Not sounding the least bit viscous, but feeling very much otherwise.

 

“Hmm. Anyway. I suppose the real gossip in this house is far richer than a mere ailment.”

 

She spoke, exhaling smoke again, looking across at the house. Away from Libby to bait the young woman’s infallible inquisitiveness.

 

“What constitutes real gossip?” Libby wondered, sipping idly on a glass of soda and lemon.

 

“An affair of course.” Cressida spoke, still not looking at Libby.

 

Libby knew she should feel panicked, she should beg the awful woman for information regarding what she knew about an affair. But, she couldn’t bring herself to care, she really couldn’t fathom an inch of determination to move herself to fret about Cressida. For once, she really couldn’t care less, and it felt like bliss.

 

“An affair…” Libby probed, needing more of what she knew.

 

“I know ones not to start rumours about one’s self, but, if I do say so, spending a long night with a car salesman does take priority over sudden ailments of seniors.”

 

“You and Frederick Phillips?” Libby said, feigning surprise, and willing her stomach not to turn at the man’s name.

 

“Indeed.”

 

Cressida sneered arrogantly, smiling a repulsive red smile at Libby. She loved how she now had the upper hand, talking about the matter of sex with a debutante prude really did make her feel so terribly superior.

 

“Well. I wish you every happiness. He’s rich of pocket, quite a catch. – So my mother says. I presume that means you will stop seeking out the bachelor’s in this house for a proposal then?”

 

Libby spoke with a smile that she had to subdue so much as she saw Cressida’s smile fall.

 

“Well. It’s just the normal thing I imagine, to stop pursuing other men once you’ve hopped into bed with another.”

 

Libby pressed, lapping up every ounce of uncomfortableness on Cressida’s end.

 

“He’s a very lucky man to have you.”

 

Libby spoke meaningfully, leaning forwards and placing her hand over Cressida’s in a heartfelt outreach. The thought ‘keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer’ sprung to mind.

 

“If it’s not too entirely presumptuous, I see wedding bells in your future.”

 

Libby leaned back, releasing her hand from the woman, and feeling so utterly gleeful at the woman’s abhorrence.

 

“Why thank you.” Cressida spat venomously. Not meaning a single syllable. Hating how she felt that the annoying outspoken virgin had her beat.

 

“But. I think I may have misspoke earlier, there may be a matter far richer than even the knowledge of an affair.” Cressida stubbed out her cigarette.

 

“That being?” Libby countered quickly.

 

“I’m sure you’ve heard that Benedict’s parent’s are threatening to disinherit him unless he marries within the month.”

 

Libby’s throat nearly seized up, and she was sure the cause was that her heart was trying to claw its way up and out of her throat.

 

“Really?” she spoke, trying her best not to sound worried and fear stricken.

 

“Word on the grapevine is that his parent’s collectively agreed to cut him off unless he stopped mucking about with his travelling and took a serious oath of marriage. Apparently there’s a matter of 20 million in his savings at stake, so you could see why he’d be inclined to rush into a sordid affair to help fan the flames of marriage all for the selfish sake of seizing his money.” Cressida said coolly.

 

“That doesn’t sound like Benedict. He wouldn’t procure a hasty marriage just to guarantee the safeguarding of his wealth. That’s not something he would do.”

 

“It makes sense to me.” Cressida smirked.

 

Libby’s brain fought hard for words.

 

“You mean to tell me the reason he has had not _one_ affair with a woman in all his life, is all due to the fact that he was waiting for the right woman? Oh wait, I know, he was waiting for his, _one true love…_ ” Cressida cackled. The wicked witch parallel was back.

 

Libby really didn’t know what to say.

 

“I mean, a man of his social upstanding and good looks surely knows what he is capable of doing to a woman….” Cressida continued.

 

Libby closed her eyes for a long moment. She felt nauseas. And her breath was evading her. Suddenly she had a heated flashback of last night, his hands running all over her skin, the mind blowing pleasure he could give to her, and now, after what Cressida had said. The memory didn’t bring her pleasure and blushed cheeks, it made her feel sick, ashamed, and foolish.

 

“…So it stands to reason that the reason being he had no relationships must be that he wanted to keep his wealth to himself all this time. Hence why it being taken away would force him to rush into marriage to save it. That’s the best reason I can think of.”

 

She spoke cruelly, seeing Libby had gone quite pale and quiet. Cressida was snidely pleased that she was able to shut the tedious girl up. What did she know about sex or marriage? Or men? Cressida knew with easy confidence she was worth ten of the candid virgin. Men would want women like Cressida. Never would they want a worthless girl like her. Until she could defend her point, she would but beg her to keep her mouth shut.

 

Luckily they were interrupted by the very man himself strolling across the lawn with Leo and Mrs Jones in tow. All three were laughing and smiling merrily. Cressida flickered her eyes back over to Libby, to see the girl hadn’t even registered his presence. Her words had worked well then, it appears. Cressida stood and smiled at the approaching three.

 

“Speak of the devil, Benedict. Your ears must’ve been burning, we were just talking about you.”

 

Cressida beamed, seeing Libby didn’t even look up from her lap. She stayed looking forlorn and miserable.

 

“No bad things I hope?”

 

Benedict teased not smiling too widely at Cressida, blue eyes beaming as he smiled and looked over to Libby, to see she was looking intently at her lap. His brow tugged down.

 

“Oh on the contrary. All manner of _bad_ **_bad_** things…”

 

Cressida purred, looking intently at Benedict’s frowning face, and then back to the silent likes of Libby.

 

“Libs?”

 

Benedict spoke, moving to sit down next to her in the available seat, his hand idly reaching out and gently touching her bare shoulder. He felt her skin’s peachy warmth for a split second, before she flinched away and winced. That expression and reaction nearly broke his heart.

 

She stumbled up onto her feet, not looking at him. But slapping her napkin down on the table top that had formerly laid across her lap. She got her bearing and slid around the table away from them all. Moving quickly with her head down. Benedict turned his head, following her as she walked away, the worry flooding his stomach black.

 

“Libby?”

 

He whispered as she rushed past him. Assured she had heard him as her eyes looked wet with tears and their blue depths looked angered and saddened.

 

“Elizabeth? Where are you going? We’re just about to have lunch.” Her mother chided sharply across the lawn to the retreating woman.

 

“Lost my appetite, excuse me.” She answered softly as she willed tears not to fall until she was alone.

 

Cressida watched Libby disappear with a self-satisfied smirk on her red lips.

 

Benedict watched her go with curious worry, but as he saw her hand reach up and wipe something unknown away from her face, He lurched into a jog and hurried off after her.

 

 

 

 

~


	14. Covetousness...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Hero and Heroine ought be prepared, a jealous blonde storm is brewing on the horizon....

 

 

 

 

After a good long ten minutes of searching, he finally found her. He had rushed through the house, checking the library, her bedroom, the formal lounge, but as he ran to the conservatory, he found her. He spied her across the garden, where he had wandered too the other day, trying desperately to dry her eyes. He sighed, and ran out of the house, bounding over the lawn to get to her, seeing her wrap her arms around herself as she tried to pull herself together.

 

He came to a stop behind her, his panting breath giving away his presence. She turned to face him with a stony expression and sad, dejected eyes that were brimming over with tears. He moved closer to her, his worried eyes examining her own pleadingly.

 

“Please, would you tell me what’s wrong? Unless I am to hazard a guess. And by guess, I assume that means a poisonous blonde who cornered you not a minute ago…” Ben spoke, quelling his anger.

 

“Does the word disinherit mean anything to you, Benedict?” Libby asked, folding her arms over herself.

 

Benedict frowned. “No. It does not. Should it?” he said impatiently, wondering exactly what Cressida had done or said this time.

 

“Foolish! I can’t believe how foolish I’ve been.” Libby muttered to herself.

 

“What?” Ben adhered, not gaining any more sense from her words.

 

“Are you being disinherited? Are you going to lose all your wealth? Is that why we are to be married? So as you can save your funds?” Libby asked, in a very small voice.

 

Benedict crossed to her and took her shoulders in his hands.

“Did she tell you that?” he hissed nastily, angered at Cressida, and not Libby.

 

She nodded, looking down at her feet.

 

“She said your parent’s were going to disinherit you unless you married within the month. She made me feel like you only needed me to secure your money…”

 

Libby looked up to Ben’s silent yet pleading eyes to see they were urging her to continue.

 

“The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. She made me believe it. I’m sorry.” Libby spoke, ashamedly, looking at her feet.

 

Ben thumbed a tear away from her cheek. Tugging her close.

 

“That isn’t true. My parents would never disinherit me, I’m their only son. And although I know they are both dying to see me married, they would never hold my wealth accountable because of it.”

 

His hand stroked down her cheek as he spoke solemnly.

 

“I will now introduce your first rule as my wife, don’t ever listen to Cressida Bloody Cowper.” Ben rumbled low in his chest in his gravelliest smokiest voice, so Libby knew it was an order, and not a plea.

 

“I have an inkling she may sense we are not just friends as we so claim.” Libby worried aloud, letting Ben hold her.

 

“She certainly is every inch the scheming little bitch the gossip vines make her out to be…” Ben seethed.

 

“I can’t believe her…” He stormed away from Libby. His body too focused on anger to concentrate on anything else.

 

She decided to stay silent. Feeling like an utter fool.

 

“I’m sorry Benedict.” She uttered slowly.

 

“You don’t need to be.” He answered softly.

 

“Yes I do.” She spoke defiantly.

 

“I pride myself on being so, unswayable, and level headed. And one shred of petty gossip from her reduces me to tears, I.”

 

She found a slim finger pressed to her lips, and blue eyes gazing her down earnestly.

 

“You think I know you so little as that? My darling I’m just touched to be your pressure point. And you should be too, considering you’re equally my own. But don’t let her sway you, she’s hateful and vindictive, and you can be sure I will have many things to say to her later.” Ben promised

 

“You’re going to talk to her?” Libby asked feebly, suddenly feeling apprehensive.

 

“AT her, not to her. There’s a difference” Ben assuaged.

 

“Don’t let her sway you.”

 

Libby echoed, seeing no sense in fighting the glimmer of determination in his eyes. That glimmer would carry him on until he had done what he wanted, and there was no persuading him otherwise.

 

“She couldn’t sway me if she tried. I’m afraid I’m quite besotted with another woman.” He spoke lovingly, carting a hand through the back of her hair.

 

Libby smiled, and let herself kiss him. Assured he would set things straight again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After Lunch had been cleared away, and everyone made their excuses to their afternoon activities. Meaning Mrs Jones was prepping tonight’s menu with Ms Higgs in the parlour, Leo was taking a jog around the fields before her had to change for dinner. And Cressida, was, once again left to her own devices.

 

Eliza had just finished lugging the last of the tea trays back across the lawn from the table, heaving the heavy oak tray down onto the kitchen counter with an unladylike sigh, harrumphing with annoyance as she crossed to the sink and lumped the dirty dishes carefully down into the foaming hot water to wash them, careful she didn’t chip them in the process. Ms Higgs was busy scrubbing away the kitchen counter, when Parker swept in with the tray high in the air, to join those awaiting to be cleaned on the draining board.

 

“I swear that Cowper woman’s getting worse! She won’t even touch the salted beef sandwiches we made, she idly picked at a salad and downed three whiskey sours and eight cigarettes at lunch. Now I guess I know why she’s so ruddy thin! She eats sod all!”

 

“She really is the, drink, _not eat_ as it were, and be merry girl if you ask me…” Simpy said quietly.

 

“Oh. Just you wait little miss loud-mouthed Brown, She’ll end up fat, alcoholic and miserable… Especially with the way she pines after men, after that Benedict. Did you see her? Fluttering her eyelashes and smiling like the devil? Mark my words, no man wants to marry a floozy like that! She’ll be an old spinster by the time she’s mid 30’s.” Ms Higgs said to Eliza, who smiled in response.

 

“Well. I don’t know about the fat part, but if she carries on her diet of imbibing pints of whiskey and eating nought but salad leaves, she will end up a woman who’s more than fond of her drink.” Simpy put in, revelling in the gossip.

 

“She should learn no one sodding well wants her in this house, and pack her bags and be off back to merry London! Instead of meddling in Ben and Libby’s affairs!” Eliza grunted angrily, scrubbing a plate with foul tempered vigour.

 

“They really are a finely matched pair.” Higgs dreamed aloud, as parker smiled and chipped in too.

 

“I overheard Mrs Jones say a summer wedding was in order….” He smiled, moving to place the silver tea tray back on the dresser.

 

“I thought you stuck by your godforsaken idea of ‘The butler see’s nothing, and hears even less’ “ Higgs enquired, hands on her hips leering at the man, before fixing her coils of copper hair under her cook’s hat that were going array.

 

“When it is dear matters of our wonderful Miss Elizabeth, I cannot help but tune in.” Parker defended, in loyal sentiment.

 

“Eliza. Miss Quinn wishes for her black gown pressed and returned to her room before dinner, and for her fur to be groomed also.”

 

Parker watched as Eliza’s tell-tale stroppy sigh voiced all of her discontent. Aswell as her shoulders slumping and her jaw grinding together.

 

“If I have to press one more damned dress, I swear to Lucifer now, I’ll pack that Bloody woman and her gowns and furs back off to London meself….” She stomped, moving to the utility room through the halls where the dress had been washed.

 

The house staff moved about their familiar duties once more before a shrill voice cut through the busy sounds in the air like the jagged and cringing noise of nails down a chalkboard.

 

“Parker.” Came the jarring wretch of Cressida’s sharp cry as she stood in the doorway, looking impatient and distressed that she even had to venture down into the filthy kitchens.

 

Parker swiftly paused in his duties and crossed to the doorway, trying to ignore the garish vocalisation of her clothing that was screaming at him. She was wearing what she wore to lunch, a most unusual attire of vibrant lime green that was just short of damaging to the eyes, especially when combined with an eye wateringly bright turquoise that nearly made tears leak from his eyes. Around her styled blonde curls on her head, some of which swept onto her cheeks and forehead, sticking to her skin as she had oiled them there, she wore a teal silk headband that ended with the ties running down over her shoulder. Around the collar of her tied up silk shirt, there sat a large semi-circle of fur lining the neckline. Her trousers were of the same lurid blue colour, and the small dainty silk green heels – again which were lined with the tabby brown mink fur – and looked most impractical for jaunting across country lawns and dirt. She had a long cigarette holder ready to smoke in between her fingers, and she looked irritatingly impatient to get smoking it.

 

“Miss Quinn.” Parker addressed politely, even though the woman had descended into the room with a vastly inflated over-estimation of her own self-importance. Plus the fact she was barking out impolite orders to the staff like they were a pack of rabid dogs.

 

“I need something fetched from town. Urgently. From the chemists. Someone needs to go and fetch it for me before dinner.” She growled, toying with the holder in her fingers.

 

“What would that be, Miss?”

 

“Benzodiazepine. Sleeping tablets, sedatives. The strongest dose possible.”

 

“Very well Miss. I shall send Eliza put immediately to fetch them.” Parker assured her, to which she sneered and leaned out of the doorway as if to walk away, but instead lingered for a moment.

 

“This conversation is for mine and your ears alone, Parker. Understand? And if you do tell anyone, even if you so much as whisper it to the cook. I will tell Mrs Jones that you’re pilfering the family silver from the dresser. Are we clear?”

 

Parker swallowed. Being a butler meant he had to guard his tongue at all times, and adopt a stony mask of disinterest. But right then he very much wished he could behold the luxury to tell her exactly what ill thoughts he had of her.

 

“Clear as crystal, Miss Quinn.”

 

“And have my gown pressed by half six, and for god’s sake don’t let the pathetic and frankly useless maid starch the damn thing again. It’s from Paris and probably cost more than all she owns….” She sneered, moving out of the doorway and up the hall without another word.

 

All the kitchen staff shared a look. A silent look which agreed that Cressida Quinn needed to leave this house of her own accord before she was unceremoniously _thrown_ out of it….

 

 

~

Cressida heard Benedict before she saw him. She heard harsh stubborn footprints track along the corridor’s carpet to her doorframe. The harsh treads didn’t falter or waver. Not even when he paused and rattled the door on its hinges as he knocked upon it abruptly and resolutely. 

‘Well. If there’s one thing he is, that’s a gentleman,’ Cressida thought to herself, as she smiled and turned to face the door. Unbeknownst to him, he was setting her plan into action rather nicely…..

She was facing the bed with her back to the door, trying to decide on tonight’s gown for dinner. It was a tough choice between a flawless diamond studded beige silk number, which dipped down into a plunging neckline at her front, or, a sumptuous silky blood red dress which was fringed and hung off her delicate frame easily. She stood in a long dressing gown of white silk. Her lips already rouged red as she was trying out her new shade of Spanish rouge, Lesley had it exported from New York for her. She sighed in happy dis-abandonment. Smoothing a hand down her thigh to rid her dress of a crease. 

“Come in.” she soothed softly, grinning like a fox. 

She heard the door open and close behind her, becoming aware of a new presence in the room. He was such an unassuming man, so meek. Yet he managed to take up the whole of the room behind her as if it were his to harness and rule. He wasn’t the strongest looking of men, truth be told she liked her men a bulk wider than Benedict, but she knew beneath his sleek and lithe frame, there lurked dangerously powerful muscles that only needed coaxing into the open to come out and play. And she simply adored how handsome he was, she loathed deeply that the rotten mouthy Elizabeth Jones had wrapped him around her little finger. He really did have a heavenly face, those angelic blue eyes, that fantastic, soft looking, and not to mention lustrous mop of dark brown curls. She would simply die unless she raked her red fingernails through that hair, scraping his scalp, as she would pull those wonderful full lips onto hers for a kiss, taking those prominent cheekbones under her palms when she did kiss him. Scratching them appreciatively with her nails. 

She finally turned, after a second or two of keeping her back to him, and saw that those blue eyes were hardened like ice, and those full lips were pulled into a firm angry line that wasn’t smiling and clearly wasn’t pleased to see her. 

“And what may I do for you Benedict?”

She asked flirtily. Moving across the room to where he was stood angrily, hands by his sides, making him appear relaxed and carefree, but due to the way his veins were bulging in his neck and arms made her think otherwise. 

If it was even possible – his eyes went twice as baron and desolate when she spoke. Positively glaring their frosty hardness at her.

“You can shut those poisonous red lips of yours for starters. I am going to speak and you, are going to listen.” He growled. 

This made her smile all the more, he was handsome and attractive when he was even tempered, but angered and riled up, and he was damned alluring and positively striking. She wanted to devour him with her lips. She wanted him to make her scream. 

“I’ve never been likened to poison before….”

She purred, stepping closer and smiling up at him with a bloody looking red sneer. 

“That’s because no one’s had the courage to be deadly honest with a scathing revolting bitch like yourself before.” He answered in an ill-tempered growl.

She took a tiny step backwards, letting her smile grow wider.

“You will stay away from mine and Libby’s relationship. Is that clear?” He spat.

“Did the little snitch tell on me? I wonder if she is physically capable of keeping her mouth shut?” she wondered aloud, nastily. Smirking.

Benedict launched himself across the distance between them in a very threatening way. 

“I am not a man who unleashes violent words and temperaments upon women. But you are giving me every incentive to ignore that rule. Don’t you dare talk about her that way. She is worth a hundred of you. She is good and honest, and he doesn’t meddle in other people’s relationships and emotions like a spoilt lonely little brat!” he growled.

“Oh please. What a winning show of love and loyalty. She is loud mouthed, opinionated and could do with losing a pound or two, didn’t anyone tell her being thin is all the rage nowadays.” She spat back with a nasty smirk.

Cressida turned and walked back over to her bed with her back to him, inspecting her dresses once more. Benedict had to clench his fists and jaw hard and remind himself that he wasn’t the sort of man to hit women either. No matter how odious or foul they were. 

“Just… stay away from her.” 

He ground out, biting off his words. His impatience and rage stunting the flow of eloquent words to his usually well-expressed and articulate brain. 

“Or what? Are you going to threaten me, Benedict?” she sneered, encouraging his anger. 

“I’ll do more than threaten you unless you leave us alone.” He bit off. 

“Oh, now I’m intrigued…” 

She smiled lustily, carelessly drooping the dress in her hands to a crumpled heap on the floor by her feet. Fussing with the neckline of her gown so that is showed off more cleavage and she made sure her leg appeared out of the gap in her dressing gown. But his eyes didn’t even move from her face. Nor did his expression change from its stance of stoic antagonism. 

“What could you possibly do to me Benedict? And don’t skimp on all the dirty details…”

She flirted. She stalked towards him, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. 

“If you don’t leave us alone, you may mysteriously find that the police would be informed about Frederick’s assault on Libby.”

“Why on earth would that affect me?” she smiled.

“You really think me that brainless Cressida?” Ben sneered. 

“That man attacked and assaulted her in her own home after happening to spend a rather long evening with you. I’m not one for the belief of coincidence... The universe is rarely so lazy in the conspiracy of such things.” 

She sneered, and looked down her feet, almost looking sheepishly ashamed that he had been caught. 

“So what if I did tell him she was interested. She gets a suitor, he gets a wife, No harm done.”

“HE ASSUALTED HER!” Benedict cried loudly and furiously.

“I know. I told him too.” She smiled, no hint of remorse in her voice. 

“Are the minds of men so easily corrupted by a red lipsticked smile and an odious woman such as you…” he said disgustedly with misbelieving horror. 

“Well. Not to speak for myself too much, but he seemed to rather enjoy corrupting me. Many men do.” She said suggestively

“Oh I don’t believe you matured into corruption. I think you were birthed that way into it.” He spat. 

She smirked again. He had really begun to hate that red smirk of hers. “Perhaps.” She finalised.

“But I think you and me both know that corrupted women make far better lovers than prude virgins. And I’m also correct in thinking you and I would corrupt each other like mad, and it would be so thoroughly enjoyable.” 

She purred her promise, stepping close to him, and peering up through her eyelashes at the angry man. 

Benedict threw her wrists away from him as she reached out to touch him. 

“Libby is not a prude. Nor is she a virgin. And I can barely stand to be in the same room as yourself, and that is unlikely ever to change.”

“Oh don’t tell me you two are shagging? I find it hard to believe that she was able to shut up and let her defences down long enough for you to take her.”

“Stop insulting her. It isn’t doing you any favours with me Cressida. It’s making me hate you all the more.” He assured her. 

She scoffed. Turning and walking back over to the bed. 

“How was she then? Good? Bad? Frigid?” 

She sneered horribly, obviously perturbed by the very idea. 

“I’m not even dignifying that remark to be met with an answer.” He promised.

“You do know she is using you for your money? And just so she can get a job?” Cressida huffed. 

“Doesn’t all that lying get exhausting after all these years?” Benedict asked. 

“What’s exhausting is seeing you waste affection on that bookish prude when I have had my sights set after you since we met three years ago!” Cressida yelled loudly.

“Set your sights on me? Or on my wealth Cressida. Answer me that I’m just curious…” he snarled right back. 

She grit her teeth as Benedict realised she had finally run out of words.  


“I’ll leave you to your own odious company, and of you ever so much as come near me, or Libby. In this house, or even when we are happily married. I will call the police and have you thrown in prison to rot there for the rest of your life. Maybe then you’ll finally gain some perspective on just how much everyone despises you.”

He promised, stalking to the door, throwing it open and slamming it shut behind him.


	15. Conspiracy and Calculations...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its all plain sailing for our Hero and Heroine... Has the storm passed? Alas, They say smooth seas never make a skilled sailor.....

 

As the afternoon gradually and gracefully eased into the evening, as easily as if the day were taking tentative steps forwards, The Jones’s house became a lowly lethargic atmosphere, the staff in the kitchen could relax for a couple of hours before the dinner rush, upstairs, people bathed and made no move to hurry themselves into dressing for this evenings meal. The lazy ambiance of the house folded over all the inhabitants just as the indolent sunshine started to softly break away from the day, in its place, came in a gentle swaying evening mood that tinged its amber footprints all over the gardens and the progressively setting sun.

 

Benedict had languidly changed into his dinner dress, which was the usual black and white tuxedo with a bowtie. Of course, he had left the black jacket off for now, and let the loose bow tie bedeck his neck, and he had wandered slowly up to Libby’s room with a lazy smile.

 

He walked through her lounge and pushed her bedroom door too, seeing she was sat at her vanity table fussing with her hair, she was all made up, looking as stunning and as beautiful as she always did. Benedict wondered if she was ever capable of not taking his breath away, she had her goofy moments certainly, she was also slightly clumsy when the occasion called for it, but never when she was all those things, did she appear un-beautiful to him. If anything, those things only seemed to enhance her beauty. He just paused in the doorway, looking unkempt and quite a scruffy sight to be sure, but he just wanted to cherish her in an unguarded moment, he realised then what a lovesick fool he could be, why, he would be satisfied so as to watch her brush her teeth even. As he stood staring, he was also listening to the soft music she had playing in the lounge, some wonderful orchestra tinkling away while she tinkered with her appearance. He tilted his head to the side and smiled as she huffed in attempting to sort out her fringe.

 

“You look beautiful. You needn’t hassle yourself with the aggravation. You always look beautiful.” He spoke softly from the doorway.

 

She smiled in the mirror across the room to him. Not startled by his voice or presence at all, it was as almost, in a carefree way, as if she expected him to be there. Her enchanting smile grew wider as she looked at him, before turning in her seat away from the cold reflection in the glass to take in his warm company directly from her own eyes.

 

“Is the point of having a beloved significant other so that they can apparate at inopportune moments and remind, and assure you of how beautiful we don’t think we look? Because if it is, I rather venture I will just adore having you as my husband, so that you can soothe and protect my sore ego.”

 

She spoke coming to a stand, and gathering the folds of her silk dressing gown in one hand, so no exposure of her skin would lead to any vigorous lustful exercise before dinner.

 

“Darling, I believe that it is nearly my lifelong duty to tell you how wonderful you are…” He chided lovingly, linking his arms around her back as hers coupled around his waist.

 

“That and to seek your assistance with cufflinks. Mind lending me your skilful pair of hands?” He smiled, dangling his undone shirt sleeves in front of her.

 

She smiled, chuckling slightly, before leading him over to the chaise, and sitting him down as she took his sleeves and folded them neatly, slipping the cuff through the fabric and fixing it in place so they sat straight.

 

“I should probably save you the agony now, by telling you, I am only marrying you for you are the extraordinaire of cufflink arrangement.” He joked. To which she laughed again.

 

“One of the many talents listed under my name. Also of which, is the master of indecisiveness. Would you help me select a dress to wear for dinner tonight?”

 

She asked, seeing his smile grow wide, and his eyes light up like fireworks on the fourth of July.

 

“It would be my indecorous pleasure…” he winked.

 

She smiled and walked over to her wardrobe, pausing halfway as he spoke again. Unbeknownst to her, Benedict was watching with the carnal glee of a randy schoolboy, the way in which her bottom and hips swayed deliciously under the think silk of her gown. Sashaying from side to side as she went. It practically made him salivate, spurring on the need to run his hands all over her in that silk gown, just feeling the weight and warmth of her flesh under his palms, he could tell the arousal was seeping dangerously into his bloodstream.

 

“Oh, and if I might add. I quite like the little number you have on under that gown…”

 

He purred, watching her with eyes that were edged to topple over the precipice of looking dangerously lustful.

 

“I’m not wearing anything under this gown…”

 

"Exactly" 

Benedict added. Winking at her. 

She stayed silent, yet with a tiny smile, decorating her lips, and cheeks blushing red in a very fetching way.

 

“Behave yourself Cumberbatch.”

She chided, walking over to the large wardrobe at the end of her room.

 

He smiled wider, looking for all the world like a scandalous scoundrel wanting to devour her.

 

“You should be stern with me more often, I rather enjoy it.”

 

He teased, with promiscuous bedroom eyes glinting at her.

 

Now with furiously pink cheeks, she leant over the doorway into her wardrobe, before disappearing into the small alcove, after which he could hear silk and satin rustling as she searched.

 

“Green or Blue?” She asked, leaning around the doorway to look at him.

 

He thought how wonderful she looked the other day in the scorch of the bright midday sun, out on the lawn before she went swimming in the pond. The emerald green had made her eyes and skin tone stand out so richly, and it only enflamed the amber hues of her hair. She would look heavenly in green…

 

“Try the green.”

 

He recommended, again, hearing a rustle of fabric as she pulled on the mysterious green dress out of his sight. He loved how he could pinpoint the exact few seconds when she was quite without clothes, and perfectly naked. As he could see the crumpled black pile of silk that was the gown she was wearing not seconds ago. He bit his lip and willed the dirty thoughts to leave his mind.

 

She appeared in the doorway again, folding the remainder of the long silks skirts around her legs. One of the sides was missing a large triangle from the front, so both her knees and calves could be seen, sweeping up the sight of her legs, his eyes wandered past her ample and wide flaring hips that he adored. He hated the age of fashion dictated that women were to be shapeless and slender. Slender she was, shapeless she was not. Her tiny waist went inwards, before her bust made her figure curve outwards again. She didn’t have a largely voluptuous bust, after last night he could safely say with confidence, although her wonderful and full breasts filled his large hands, they weren’t inherently huge. Just, perfect. His eyes then travelled up her sleek collarbone, and up her wonderful face. The dress was a deeper green than he was expecting, it wasn’t emerald, it was rather a murky bottle green, silk, from the soft look of it, and from the way it shimmered in the light. The straps of it were thin, and Benedict wavered he would thoroughly enjoy gliding them down her shoulders later. It clung to her in a perfect fit, with a v necked plunge that didn’t reveal too much of her chest. Just the top of her sternum. The colour, he noticed, also made her eyes and hair more vibrant shades than they would be usually.

 

“You look quite a ravishing sight in green, Libby.” He uttered sincerely.

 

She smiled and thanked him with pink cheeks, moving across to her vanity to place in her emerald earrings. Allowing Benedict to catch a glimpse of her back that was marvellously shown off in the dress, with just the straps looping around her shoulder blades to hold it in place, the rest was left bare and free for his eyes to clothe. He bit on the inside of his lip, feeling thrice the amount of lust coursing through his body.

 

While she finished placing her earrings in, he couldn’t hold in his feelings anymore. He meandered over to where she was stood. Careful to avoid the long train of her silk gown, of which his hand smoothed down over her rear in a way that caused her to lose all breath rapidly, but his hand slid down under her thigh, and assisted by pulling the silk train to one side, so he could move close to her back, one hand resting on her waist, the other lazily wandered up the soft skin of her warm bare back. He saw her eyes sweep closed in the mirror at which he knew his ministrations were wanted and were indeed paying off. When he reached the supple build of her shoulder, a lone finger broke away from the rest, and slid slowly down her shoulder and her upper arm, fingering the strap and deciding whether or not to slide it off now, or wait and savour it later when he could gather her into his arms in their bed, and see all of her, all at once. She was one long expanse of beautiful and slender, silky smooth pale skin broken apart by the foggy green of her dress.

 

“Benedict…”

 

She whispered softly, quickly transcending into a moan as he leant forwards and softly kissed her shoulder where his hand was previously. As she felt those plump, warm and moist lips press to her bare skin, she valiantly thanked her vanity table for allowing her to press her hands into it and keep herself upright. As her knees were buckling and shaking, and she was damn sure she would be nothing but a mushy yet satisfied puddle by the time he had finished with her.

 

“I like this dress on you.”

 

He purred, his nose skimming over to her neck as he continued to kiss her there, taking her earlobe between his teeth and sucking on it gently until he heard her whimper.

 

“Well. I like how you show your appreciation for the dresses I wear…”

 

She moaned back to him, her hands making fists on the vanity as she fought for breath. Lord help him he loved the sound of her raspy lust filled voice.

 

“This isn’t even half of my appreciation, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until later to fully receive that…” He promised, breaking away, and resting his chin on her shoulder so he could look forwards and gaze at her in the mirror.

 

“In that case, I’ll be waiting breathlessly beside myself with anticipation…” she smiled, fighting for breath.

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

They still had a good hour to kill before they had to go downstairs for dinner, so Libby and Benedict had flopped lazily onto Libby’s bed, Benedict was laying so his socked feet were on Libby’s pillow, and his head lingered somewhere near the foot of her bed. She was laying with her knees bent, slid halfway down the bed so her head was near Benedict’s as they turned and looked at each other. Libby’s arms were folded across her stomach and chest, and Ben’s hand was trailing lazy patterns on her silken hip with his fingertips. They were listening to a gentle swaying jazz and were simply content on just talking to each other. Stealing lethargic caresses every so often. 

“I can’t believe we’re to be married.” Libby dreamed in wondrous sentiment. 

Benedict smiled and gave her a long lazy look that was awash with happiness. 

“I never have to solicit awful men in the hope that they propose. I never have to do that again. It’s a wonderful lease of freedom. No more having to watch monotonous games of cricket. Or hunting. I could cry with happiness….”

“H-Hunting?” Ben smiled, the laughter present in his voice. 

“Yes. In her blinded desperation to see me wed, my mother solicited after the Earl of Kidderminster. We went game hunting, whereby he declared killing baby grouse, ‘a jolly good sport’”

“The Earl of Kidderminster…” Benedict asked slowly.

“Yes?” she confirmed with no utterance of surprise in her tone.

“The Earl of Kidderminster who’s in his mid-fifties….” Ben avowed, feeling sickened.

“When it comes to getting, me, wed off age limit is not much of a concern” 

“That’s damn near frightening. You mother would really lobby a man who is closer to his grave than his cradle all to ensure you aren’t single? You must forgive me if I don’t find good reasonable sense here.” 

He spoke. Having an epiphany type moment of just how far mothers would go to see their daughters wed. 

“Evaluating how auspicious and fortunate you are in your own love life choices?” 

She asked with a laugh, leaning closer to him as she could practically see the cogs turning in Ben’s head as his thought’s spilled over the notion. The answer she got was his hand seeking out hers, and an intense blue gaze directed at her. 

“I vow, never to take you hunting, in all our married life.” He spoke sincerely. Mocking her.

She laughed. The sound was as pleasing and as charming as the chorus of angels to Ben’s ears. Her laugh sparkled and gleamed and delighted him all at once. She had an enchanting laugh and a smile that was to die for. 

“Well, I am glad for the reprieve.” She finished.

“But if you find you sorely miss charming old aristocrats, My Uncle is the Duke of Pemberly by marriage. He sometimes visits us at Christmas if we are in London, I’m sure you could vent your flirtascious urges on him if you need. He’s deaf in his right ear actually, so if you are seated on his right you can say a whole host of colourful things about him, and he won’t have a clue… Ironically he lost his hearing in a hunting accident….”

Ben finally finished, seeing Libby nearly doubled over with laughter. Again came her delightful laugh, which he couldn’t help smiling at.

When she had finished, after her body stopped shaking, and the tears of mirth were wiped from her eyes. She found her voice again.

“How kind of you to take into consideration my flirting needs…” 

She chuckled, before she bit her lip. Before she went very quiet all of a sudden. Her hands fidgeting nervously in a habit he knew to identify when she was anxious.

“Will your family like me, Ben?” 

“Are you joking? They’ll adore you.”

Ben assured, but seeing she still kept silent.

“It won’t be the kind of adoration that fades when my back is turned will it?” 

She worried. Ben tilted his head, sternly, with faint etchings of pity on his brow.

“Listen. My mother and father, they adore you. They made a point of telling me so after you met them, each individually spoke to me and offered how charming and lovely you are. My mother asked if you were single. And my father told me to, well. To stop ‘assing about and marry the gal’”

He paused as she laughed softly. 

“And when you meet the rest of my family, you can be sure they will adore you just as much. My parents are the toughest two, and you buttered them up well before hand. The rest will fall suit. Who could know you and not love you?”

Ben asked, gently stroking her hand in his own.

“Is the latter a rhetorical question? Because I believe there’s a blonde downstairs who would like to see me go before the firing squad.” 

“She doesn’t count. She’s a heartless old harpy. She’s doesn’t constitute as a someone in my mind. More a blonde whining annoyance that I would very much like to be rid of.” 

Libby chuckled softly.

“Your words are cruel, but god, do they ring true…” She spoke, smiling again.

Ben twined his fingers through hers. 

“God, these past few days have been so, utterly, amazing… But, you know what, I can’t wait for them to end…” 

Ben started softly, staring in wonderment at the ceiling. 

“Can’t wait for them to end?” 

Libby spoke concerned. Sitting up slightly to look at him, seeing him stare at the ceiling before looking over to her. 

“…So we can begin the rest of our lives. Move into the same house, get married. Travel the globe, grow old, have children, do everything we’ve ever wanted to do with our lives, with each other.”

Libby smiled, and she diagnosed how tears of happiness could’ve spilled from her eyes right then and there. 

She leaned across and loomed over him, smiling as she placed a gentle hand on his chest and stared deep into his eyes, looking at his handsome frame reclined on her bed in a dying patch of sunlight from the window. He looked like the world’s most dazzling creature. And she realised in a moment of loving wonder, that he was all hers. He was now so completely her dazzling creature. She couldn’t decide whether she wanted to commission a painting of him so she could show off his beauty to the world. Or whether she wanted to conceal him away for just herself. 

“There’s not a thing I don’t love about everything you’ve just said.” 

She whispered, before leaning down and kissing him soundly on the lips, feeling him smile under her. 

“Then you’ll love what I’m about to do, a lot…” 

Benedict promised, purring at her as he smiled, looking for all the world like a Cheshire cat. Benedict smirked and bit his lip, placing his hands so they were positioned under her arms, hoisting her up and rolling her over, the long train of her silk dress folding under him as they rolled so she was trapped under him as he pressed her into the bed. She laughed as they moved before his lips moulded to hers again. Smiling as he unleashed a succession of quick scorching kisses to her lips. She laughed under his body and constrained under his own smiling lips. 

“You know me too well. What a great sense of prediction you have.” Libby mocked.

Benedict moaned as he kissed down Libby’s neck. 

“Mmmn. I love the perfume you wear, you always dab it on your neck. You taste of it, you smell heavenly. What’s it called?” 

He wondered out loud. His nose nuzzling against her pulse under her chin. She could feel his lips smile as he breathed in the fantastic scent of her. 

“It’s Dior, my father brought me a bottle back from Paris, years ago. I remember I was 16 when he brought it, anyway, my mother insisted that no self-respecting 16 year old was allowed to wear perfume, my mother was always so strict about that. But I remember my father smiled and handed me this posh white box, and inside it wrapped in tissue was a bottle of Dior’s eau du parfum, it was called Miss Cherie, and that bottle sat on my vanity for god knows how many years, before one dinner party when I was 20, when I finally opened the stopper and put a little on my neck. It smelt wonderful, I poured a little drop on my pillow and it forever smelled like Dior.” 

Ben smiled, picturing her as a slender young girl dreaming of growing into a woman. And what a woman she was now. His woman to be precise. 

“Dior, Miss Cherie. I love it. Will you wear it, for me, always….”

He purred, nipping at her skin, lazily lapping up the scent and taste of her neck. 

“Yes, I’ll wear it. For you-AH- god, Ben! You’re tickling me….” She laughed, squirming and wriggling under him. 

“I would buy you a thousand bottles of that perfume. It reminds me of you, glorious, sexy, sweet, and provocative. Headstrong….”

“All these qualities present in my perfume?” Libby asked

“Mmmmmm, Definitely.”

Ben smiled, leaning up and looking at her as she brushed an errant curl from his forehead. Her hand cupping his cheek, as they stared into each other’s eyes. Both slowly leaning in for an intoxicating kiss.

“Place those lips anywhere on my sister while I’m stood here, Cumberbatch. And I will drag you out of the house by your collar and throw you in the pond.” Came a drily unamused, yet playful voice that both Ben and Libby recognised instantly.

Benedict paused, blinked, and looked up to see Leo stood in her bedroom doorway, fully fitted out for dinner and looking a damn sight more rested than he had earlier in the day. There were no heavy dark circles under his eyes, and his suit was pressed and heat, aswell as his hair being tidily brushed and styled on his head. His chestnut-auburn curls were shining and brushed, and his eyes looked refreshed and gleaming. Back to their usual sparkling cheekiness. His smile wasn’t exactly unpleased, but it wasn’t delighted either. 

“Leo. I don’t wish to sound like the moody adolescent, but what are you doing in my room.” 

Libby asked, leaning her head back from under Benedict’s body so she could view her brother from upside down across the room. 

“Trying to ensure you keep your virtue before your wedding night. As clearly, hot blooded males cannot be trusted, can they Ben?”

Leo joked, mock glaring at Benedict. Libby just rolled her eyes and sighed. Ben smiled at his friend in return. And Leo’s hands folded into his pockets and he watched as Ben then swerved up and away from Libby, Leaning back on the bed and sitting on his heels. Libby slid out from underneath him, pulling on her silk train that was previously trapped under Benedict’s knee. She stood, righted the creases in her dress, - slid up the shoulder strap that has slithered down her shoulder, Ben noticed with sexual glee – and smiled beseechingly at her brother. 

“We are not children, Leo, we can be trusted when left alone with one another. We have far passed the age whereby we need a chaperone.”

She crossed the room as she spoke near angrily, crossing to her shoes, and then to her vanity to sit and slide the green silken shoes on her dainty feet. 

Leo’s eyes slid over to Ben, and then back to his sister. 

“Oh, I know that. But still. Sometimes we need reminding.” Benedict tilted his head with a smile, because even though Leo was looking at his shoes, Ben could tell those words were actually meant for him. “And besides, I came to tell you some news, you just happened to be busy…lip-locking… as it were….when I walked in.”

“What news, I trust the matter isn’t grave?” Libby asked, looking up from securing her shoe strap around her ankle.

“Father’s health has improved, so much so, he has extended the wish to join us at dinner tonight.” Leo spoke softly with a smile. 

Libby’s head snapped up, her mouth in a serious and straight line and her eyes were wide. 

“But, did the doctor say he could, Leo he could do more damage than good. I mean in his weakened state he could fall down the stairs and break a leg, or he could collapse from the strain of-“

A slow roll of Leo’s eyes and a sternly amused look crossed his face, at which point Libby abruptly stopped talking. 

“What?” Libby asked, surprised. 

“Look, I know you are Mrs Caring, but, he really will be fine. He has enough strength to walk, and certainly enough strength to order me in here so that I may soothe your worries.” Leo chided her. 

“He knows I would fret about him, didn’t he…” Libby spoke slowly and sheepishly, holding her untied shoe in her hand as she had stood and passionately listed her despairs regarding her father. 

“He’s downstairs in his study…...” Leo started. 

“Why is he in his study? He shouldn’t be working in his condition. He should be resting, does mother know, did she send him in there? That’s most improper, he should be in the lounge at least…” 

She had begun to ramble, when Leo’s impatient look cut her off again. 

“Will you let me finish? Please?”

Libby shot him a grumpy look as she knew she was being made fun of. 

“I tell you Ben, you must have the patience of a saint if you wish to willingly enter a union of marriage with this stubborn mare….” 

Leo sideswiped teasingly to his friend, But open seeing his sister put her hands on her hips, and adopt a stance which he knew meant he was in for it, swiftly urged him to continue his words lest he find his eye gouged out with a green silk shoe. 

“As I was saying, He is downstairs in his study….. and he says he would like a word with you and Benedict.”

Libby’s heart froze, and she looked over to Ben who gave her an assuring nod. For he could only want to talk to them about one thing. 

“What does he wish to talk about….” 

Leo cocked his head with a knowing look at her, 

“I think you know, but why not go and find out for yourself dear sister….”


	16. Truth Will Out...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consent is heartily given for our Heroine and Hero to wed, But one outstanding member of the story doesn't quite react to the news in a way we expect... or do they?...... Dare we say a green monster is lurking in the shadows...

Chester Jones was attempting to get back into the swing of things, busy familiarising himself with a few work documents, when he heard a soft scuttling knock reverberate through his study door. He smiled, knowing who was behind the timid knock, before encouraging the persons inside with a soft call of ‘Come in.’

 

As the door was slowly pushed open from the other side, he saw the graceful, lithe and slender frame of his daughter glide through it, the tall, long limbed, just as gracefully striding bulk of Benedict following shortly after. Both stood just inside his study, having shut the door behind them, and both wore awaiting expressions on their faces, as if they were to be given some dreadful news.

 

Mr Jones smiled warmly at the both of them, that old weathered smile that assured them they had nothing to fear from the words her had to make both of them hear. The news delighted him, so no doubt they would be over the moon.

 

“I may be getting slow in my old age, and just because a silly ailment throws me off does not mean I am not able to detect when two people are very much in love.”

 

Libby looked at her feet, and benedict swallowed uneasily, looking at the woman who was stood a few inches proceeding him.

 

“…Especially when one of those persons is my very own daughter….” Mr Jones continued, smiling his gloriously pleased, and wrinkled, yet still thoroughly handsome aged smile.

 

Libby felt she had to speak and defend her and Benedict’s position.

 

“Father, I…” she paused and looked back to Benedict, who slid his hand through hers and stepped forwards, and the bolstered all of her courage that she needed, knowing the man stood behind her, would support her for always.

 

“I know you and mother have searched long and hard to find me a suitor to marry, and I’m very grateful to you both for doing so, in trying to secure my wellbeing. But, my wellbeing would be best kept if it was looked after by this man…. Because he loves me, and I love him….”

 

Libby turned her head away from her father to look at Ben. Who smiled wonderfully at her.

 

“… and I would but ask your position to stop seeking after potential suitors, because I’ve found my diamond in the rough as it were. Benedict is a wonderful man, and I could kick myself for not realising it sooner. I think I’ve loved him since the night we met. And I know it’s only been ten years, but I’ve spent that decade unutterably miserable, and, now. Now I’m so happy, I….”

 

Libby swallowed and stopped as her father smiled and raised a hand.

 

He tilted his head to the side looking at her. Before an ice splitting warm smile stretched the older man’s mouth. And soft booming laughter reverberated from him, shaking his body with mirth, before he stopped and looked at the pair, smiling with tears in his eyes. He motioned with a nod of his head for Libby to come over the desk by his side, which she did. Benedict released her hand and encouraged her forwards. She rounded the desk, and crouched in front of him.

 

He smiled as he looked down at his daughter, the girl who was now a woman. Seeing her auburn hair glint in the light, and her eyes sparkle up at him as her mouth sat in a straight line. He grasped both her hands in his, and tugged her soft palms up to his mouth to place kisses on them before pulling them away, still clutching her lovingly. Aware a stray tear was trying very hard to drop from his silvery eyes and down his face.

 

“I couldn’t part with you to anyone less worthy, my Libby…”

 

He spoke softly, chuckling as she smiled, and chuckled softly in disbelief, before leaning forwards and embracing her father as he laughed into her hair, smiling and placing an errant kiss to the top of her head. Benedict watched in heart drowning happiness as he saw them embrace, and with just 11 simple words granted from the man, ultimately and heartily giving his consent.

 

“I am going to miss that stubborn tongue of yours my dear. And you must remember to come and pay a visit to your decrepit old parents from time to time.”

 

Libby laughed.

 

“I will, I promise.”

 

She pulled back, and Mrs Jones examined his smiling daughter for a second, before she whispered a very hushed ‘thank-you’ to him, very quietly. He patted her hand soothingly.

 

“Wait outside for a moment, my dear. I have a few things to discuss with Benedict in private.”

 

Libby silently slid from the room, in a rush of silk that swathed and swished as she moved, she gave an encouraging smile to Benedict before she breezed out of the door, shutting it demurely behind her.

 

Benedict was left smiling at the elder man, who beamed at him in unrelenting happiness.

 

“My dear boy. I have been waiting since the night you met my daughter for this announcement to be made.”

 

Benedict’s mouth dropped open.

 

“Sir?” He began, not quite knowing what to say.

 

“I’ll admit, I was rather out of it, yesterday. But not so much so that my hearing deserted me. I heard what you professed to Libby’s mother in our room. And I must say, you’ve been slow on the uptake of my daughter, having known her for nearly a decade. But, none of that matters as a consequence. You’re together now.” Mr Jones chuckled, in resolute happiness.

 

“You’ve…approved of the union for…. ten years…” Benedict questioned.

 

Mr Jones smiled. Folding his hands on the desk in front of him.

 

“My wife and I had a running wager. I believe she owes me quite a hefty sum.” Mr Jones spoke amusedly.

 

There was silence for a second before both men chuckled.

 

“For once I find myself left quite without words.” Benedict added.

 

“I know now I’m supposed to give some stern lecture on how she is to be treated while under your care, or I am to enquire into how much you earn per annum. But I couldn’t care less about all that for once in my life. I give no one shred of worry to formalities. And I trust for a fact Leo has been stern enough for the both of us….”

 

Benedict watched as the older man got onto his unsteady feet and rounded the desk, before standing tall in front of the younger man, and smiling. Holding out a hand which Benedict shook firmly.

 

“Marry her Ben. For god’s sake. And for our own. Just marry her.” The man smiled.

 

As did Benedict. Widely.

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Benedict shut the study door behind him, feeling the cool solid oak slide under his palms as the latch clicked shut. The sound seeming to punctuate the everlasting feeling of a large weight being ceremoniously lifted from his shoulders. Everything seemed so inherently possible now, every little thing he could never do before, was now right at the mercy of his fingertips. As if all the messy, indistinct and unclear parts of his life just miraculously healed into one coherent vision that he couldn’t wait to explore and live. And he was smiling, he was smiling like an escaped mental patient who was concealing a large secret. And he wagered the words he had spoken to Libby in bed this morning were, in fact a lie, he had never known true happiness until _this_ moment instead. Because now, he had utter free reign. Complete and total freedom to do what made him happy, what made his heart soar with ecstasy.

 

He paused for a moment, his tux suited back falling against the solid wall of the oak doors comfort. Supporting him as he sagged there, just staring out the shallow hallway and across the foyer of the house. Ahead of him was the circular hallway table that he had never not seen adorned with a large vase of arranged flowers resting upon it. The table was marooned on a large Persian antique rug, and just beyond the sight of the large sorted gathering of lilies on the pine table top, he could see the open lounge door that lead into the formal parlour and dining room. And he could see the most wonderful sight of all enter his line of vision. His wonderful Libby swept slowly into the parlour doorway, after hearing the click of the study door lock ricochet across the echoing foyer, her dress trailing behind her, as one pale arm braced itself on the frame. Benedict just smiled at her for a long minute, admiring the long slender length of her filling his eyesight, and his mind. Her own smile only seemed to make his grow more.

 

Before they both knew it, they were covering ground quickly, leaving it behind them as they moved towards each other, she skirted around the table as he strode over the lip of the Persian rug. They both exhaled large gusts of air as they collided into each other’s open arms. Libby wrapped hers around his tapered neck, smiling into the crook of where his neck met his collarbone, her fingers curling into his hair as her eyes shut in bliss. Benedict’s hands went straight to her back, one arm across her shoulder blades, the other straying to the small of her waist across the bared skin of her back. The side of his head pressed to her hair before the arm that was previously on her shoulders went to the back of her head, stroking her soft red tresses. Benedict loved how she was stretched up against him, his height being vaster than her own – even with the added elevation of her heels.

 

“I can’t wait to get you out of here. We have a life to live, you and I.”

 

Benedict said loudly, pulling away from her and staring directly into her eyes. Her marvellous, marvellous eyes. The eyes that were like two slanted almonds, and were the shade of the sky in its blue afternoon. Those which were now blinking up at him with all the grace of shadows flickering across shutters like her eyelashes were spilling onto her cheeks. This woman, was now his. His marvellous loud mouthed (in the best and sexiest way possible) optimist, with a heart of gold and yet untapped depths of artistic skill, woman.

 

He felt and heard her laugh against him. And he watched with an unveiled and growing smirk on his face.

 

“We should probably extend to courtesy of staying through dinner…” She joked, slanted blue eyes glinting with mirth up at him.

 

“Nonsense. We’ll steal Leo’s Stoddard, drive to Dover, catch a ferry and be in Paris by tomorrow night…”

 

Benedict dreamed aloud, Libby couldn’t help it, she laughed, leaning in to kiss him quickly, cupping the back of his head, before pulling away and smiling at him once again. Her lips like shaped like a velveteen heart with her beam.

 

“As wonderful as that does sound, Ben. My mother is a woman of delicate planning and preparation, and whilst she would be most elated with our running off to Paris at a seconds notice. As I, her only daughter, her stubbornly presumptuous and sassy daughter who scorned the notion of every man she ever sent my way, has – lord knows how – but has finally acquired a fine and handsome suitor.”

 

At speaking these words, as if to emphasise her point, she reached over and cupped his cheekbone in her hand, purring the complimentary word through her lips with a sly promiscuous look.

 

…” Though that delight’s her, you must know she would scorn us both with all the vengeance and fury of hell that she could muster if we ran way to France whilst she had painstakingly chosen to serve us a fine gourmet dinner of Oysters Rockefeller and a medallion of spring lamb…”

 

Libby explained slowly. Her arms still linked over Benedict’s neck. His still on her head and waist. Both their smiles had not disintegrated either. But rather had increased.

 

“Ok. Then let’s adhere to respecting her wishes, and run off after dinner instead…” He winked, growling lustily at her with nothing short of pure loving intentions.

 

“ _You_ are impatient.” She smiled.

 

“ _You_ smell nice.”

 

“So, you’ve said.”

 

“So, I will say it again. It doesn’t cease being true.”

 

Libby smiled, turning her head to the side and biting her lip. Drawing the plump moist skin between her pearly white teeth, sucking in a breath before looking back at Benedict with flirty eyes. He let a long groaning growl emanate from between his cupids bow lips, and he tugged her as close as he could get her.

 

“Hmmn. That. Did I mention, I love it when you do _that_. It’s very alluring…”

 

He growled, leaning in to kiss her again, this time spinning her round in a hug as he did. She yelped into his mouth and clutched at him, lest she be spun off into the vase of lilies and across the circular table.

 

She escaped his lips for breath when he placed her squarely on the ground again, they were both giggling and holding onto each other. To an onlooker, they looked like two people who were very much in love. Libby’s hands slid down from either side of Benedict’s neck, cupping his cheeks as he smiled down at her, his eyes creasing and his smile crinkling in that adorable way she loved. His narrow eyes looking lovingly down at her, as she smiled an adoring smirk up at him, eyelashes fluttering as she scanned down his face.

 

It was loving. Perfect…

 

 

And, to Cressida, The sight of it was sickening…

 

She made a face of disgust as she got onto the landing to see them embrace and look longingly into one another’s eyes. They were grotesquely feeling each other up in the foyer, of all places. Directly in her way, as she couldn’t cut past them to get to the parlour. She made sure to promptly stomp her heeled shoe down hard on the first step at the top of the stairs. The sound echoed loudly across the hall, but apparently, not loudly enough to startle the lovebirds. Who gazed dreamily and carried on with the appallingly nauseating smiles, before twisting to look at her like she wanted them too. At which point she thought it best to hide her displeased and disgusted look of aversion, and smile sweetly instead.

 

Ben and Libby watched as Cressida Quinn, once again, made her unnecessary, large, grand and annoying entrance into their own, previously undisturbed world of happiness. The woman made sure to walk down the stairs slowly, with long and careful strides of her legs swinging out in front of her, one pale legged, red heeled foot followed by the other, thinly sculpted leg sliding down to the proceeding step. Tonight, she had decided she would look dazzling in her fringed red gown. It was shapeless, and hung off her frame easily, as the age dictated, women should be slender and sticklike, not with all the curves and lumps and bumps Like Libby had. Women ought to be trim and thin, not portly and shaped like the out of touch country goer, who wouldn’t know fashion if it slammed her in the face. No, tonight, the infuriating chit’s beauty would not match her own sizzling style, Cressida thought, her fringed blood red gown dipped fringe in layer after layer, and shimmered and sashayed when she walked. Her made up face was her usual, eyebrows drawn harshly with black eyes and devilish red lipstick done in an awful looking pout. With her she carried a small red clutch bag, within which, she smiled inwardly and wickedly to herself. She had something which, later would rectify this entire awful visit and put things to rights again. Half of her hair, she decided, would be oiled and coiffed into curls that swarmed onto her cheeks and her forehead, plastered there with god only knows how much product and preparation went into it. Atop of her honey blonde curls, sat a large red headband of thick lace, which had a curtain of thin red netting spilling over one eye. And to the side of the netting on the headband, there sat a large array of red feathers swept back over her hair. (Very much, Libby thought, in a manner of which as if someone had slaughtered a bird and stapled it to her head) Cressida descended the stairs with poise and elegance, and a smile that was positively dripping with leering superiority. Yet again.

 

“Benedict…”

 

She addressed him first as she got to the bottom of the stairs and breezed past, hoping his eyes would trail after her, which they didn’t. Frankly, the woman looked like she had massacred a chicken and had then decided to wear it as a fashionable headdress. And the revolting wave of her perfume that assaulted his nostrils after she walked by was utterly, eye wateringly bad. Shalimar, if he wasn’t mistaken. The most odious perfume, for the most odious woman.

 

“Miss Quinn.” Benedict finished tersely as she walked past. Not even looking at the eyesore that was her dress or figure.

 

“Elizabeth… Cressida clipped out, as she moved into the lounge, her voice dropping as she practically spat Libby’s name with disgust. And this suited Libby just fine, in fact, she adored it.

 

“Evening.” Libby smiled, looking over to Benedict, who she shared a secret smile with, before they walked into the lunge after her, sensing much alcohol was needed to be ingested by the pair before the evening was through with them.

 

 

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dinner passed quickly, and with little fuss from any of the six inhabitants that sat around the table, and chatted merrily about many number if things, mostly those things relating to weddings, investments, savings and travel. Libby noticed how she and Benedict suddenly found themselves miraculously seated right next to each other at the table, every so often Libby felt Benedict’s large fingers slide slowly into her own hand on her lap, brushing the silk on her thigh. She would smile and look over to him, seeing his own smile grow when she would look. Her father kept giving the pair of them wizened and weathered smiles that seemed to make his pools of mercury silver eyes, dazzle. Libby’s mother was also gazing dreamily at them aswell, as if she was imagining the intimate details of their wedding, and fawning over whether their forthcoming children would be redheads, or brunettes… Cressida, surprisingly, said naught but a handful of words. And that was asking Parker to refill her wineglass nine times. (And by asking, she would snap her fingers and point to the glass in front of her.) The one time that she clicked and gestured to her glass when it came to Eliza’s turn to pour, Libby feared the rude blonde would soon find the partially empty wine bottle smashed over her head if the sour unyielding glare on the maids face was anything to go by. Libby was grateful for the fact that Leo was just his usual placid self. Sipping idly on wine, and laughing where laughs were due.

 

Which meant that when everyone had retired for a toast of champagne after dinner to the formal sitting parlour, and Benedict had slipped away for a moment as Libby’s father had wished for a word about his occupation. And Leo had silently glided up to his sister, and slipped a brotherly arm around her, clinking his champagne glass with her own, and tilting the bubbling taupe liquid right down until there wasn’t any left, right before giving her a loud smacking kiss on the cheek. Libby chuckled at him.

 

“Well, I never. Leo Nicholas Sampson Jones. You, sir, seem drunk.”

 

He smiled warmly, wonderfully, and drunkenly at her. The usual glint of boyish brotherly teasing present in his eyes.

 

“I, dear sister, am not drunk. I am a gentleman, a gentleman gets _foxed._ Not drunk _._ ”

 

“Alright then. Foxed it is.”

 

She answered, clinking her empty glass to his and drinking he sweet crisp champagne.

 

They watched Benedict and Mr Jones laughing and talking, her mother interjecting at certain points as Cressida poured herself a drink on the other side of the room. The world was blissfully slipping by before them, and they were content just to watch it.

 

“You know, I think He’s always loved you.” Leo spoke suddenly, rather abruptly.

 

Libby looked at him, taken aback when she found notes of solemnity in his eyes. Not teasing sibling sentiment, but utter, unaltered weightiness.

 

“I’m sorry?” She asked, surprised

 

“Ever since I knew him. All through University, never once did we ever see him with another woman. It was a mystery, all the ladies loved him. He never took any interest in them, not in a – off putting or impolite kind of way, matter of fact, they wanted him all the more because of his disinterest. But, it never made sense to any of us. He’s charming, witty, aloof handsome, everything a woman could want. But, Benedict, never really wanted for anyone but you…”

 

Libby was wondering where this sudden devotion of kind word was coming from. But she had a feeling it was coming entirely from the ‘foxed’ paradox he was suffering from. But, she was inwardly relieved, the sober mouth spoke the truest secrets.

 

“And it would, always astound me how he could never be with a girl, then, the moment he would see you again….”

 

He paused, shaking his head, before his twin slanted blue sky afternoon eyes met her own.

 

“… He would come alive when he talked to you. He seemed like a dying man who had found an antidote. He just looked happier, he sounded healthier and like he had found the oasis of his life’s dreams in you. I always had an inkling that he liked you more then he let on, and _you_ the same…”

 

He said, loudly stretching the word ‘you’ in a comical way, jabbing his finger into her shoulder as he swayed against her.

 

“….Hiding how you truly felt about each other for years. Pining and moping after each other in manner of Heathcliff and that Charlotte woman from Wuthering Heights. Miserable and sulking…” Leo rambled on.

 

“It’s Katherine.” Libby added, smiling.

 

“What?”

 

“Katherine and Heathcliff. From Wuthering Heights. And yes, I agree, lots of moping and whining on their behalf for one another...”

 

“Don’t correct _me_ when I’m correcting _you_...” Leo chided.

 

“Correcting me on what?” Libby laughed, good-heartedly.

 

“Your love life. Kid sis…” he slurred.

 

“How Christian of you…” She said sarcastically.

 

“Listen. As, the senior in years of the Jones children, it is my fundamental right to be listened too by my superior, relation. You, and benedict. Better hurry up and get married, and start living a wonderful, long happy, passionate life.”

 

Libby watched as her usually reliable, well-spoken brother stumbled and slurred over saying what he truly felt about her and Benedict. Libby had to admit at that moment, she was wrong. He wasn’t too drunk, he wasn’t foxed as he so put it, and he was simply two drinks to the wind and was trying in vain to secure Ben’s feelings about her.

 

“Well. You’re not as lofty or as authoritarian as you wish to appear, Leo. Underneath your tin metal exterior.”

 

Libby joked. Leo grit his teeth, giving her an unimpressed look, before pulling her into a hug. Kissing her atop her head. She smiled and hugged him back.

 

At this point, Benedict finished his conversation with Mr Jones, striding back over to Libby and Leo. Smiling as a cause of the pair of obviously related smiles that were beaming back at him.

 

“You two look incandescently happy, Should I leave, or?” Ben joked. Leo chuckled at him.

 

“You would dare leave me with a _foxed_ brother, Benedict.”

 

Libby joked, letting her arms slide from Leo as he pulled away to place his empty glass down.

 

“I really must leave you two now. One, your public displays of emotion make me quire ill, and two, I need to distract the Blonde atrocity from the pair of you, She is directing her worst glares at the two of you, which makes me believe I can detect a green eyed monster.”

 

Leo slid away and, true to his word, and plastered on fake enthusiasm and feigned interest in Cressida in a drunken obvious way.

 

“Ok, well. I have a feeling we owe him penance for that now…” Benedict spoke, relieved, and smiling at his fiancée.

 

He took the opportune moment to slide his arms around her and link her close, smiling down at her.

 

“You know what I just realised?”

 

Ben asked, stroking his hand down the back of her soft hair and still content on holding her close, and keeping her there.

 

“What?” Libby asked.

 

“I can now call you my fiancée. I rather like that.” He cooed.

 

Libby smiled.

 

“I have a secret…”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Your fiancée likes that very much too.” She winked, smiling as she slid her hand up his collar.

 

“And a smart woman she is.” Ben winked.

 

“Libby?”

 

Ben and Libby’s attention was captivated by a small, and remarkably timid sounding plea that could only come from between the lips of one woman. And the hushed and fearful appeal sounded remarkably out of place as it was coming from Cressida.

 

Libby turned to look at the woman, a solemn look etched upon her face. And daresay she was so shocked by the somewhat unexpected earnestness of the expression. Especially in the usual place of distain and hatred on her facial features when she spoke to Libby.

 

She backed away from Benedict and faced her, understanding this was perhaps a time for serenity and resoluteness.

 

“Yes, Cressida.”

 

“I, I ur, I got you another glass of champagne…”

Libby found a cool, fresh glass of the bubbling drink placed in her hand, the previously empty glass having been taken away. – And all by the woman herself. Libby’s eyebrows found themselves twitching upwards to her hairline nearly.

 

“T-thankyou.” Libby stuttered, taking the glass.

 

Benedict’s slanted eyes were switching from Libby to Cressida like rolling blue marbles.

 

“I think, I’ll, um, take my leave of you two now, if I may. I believe we gentleman are going for a cigar. I’ll come and find you later…”

 

Benedict spoke slowly, touching the smooth skin of Libby’s shoulder. Before smiling and ducking off onto the side patio for cigars with Leo and Chester, as Mrs Jones hated the smell of them in her house.

 

As soon as he had left, Libby found she and Cressida were left to their own devices.

 

“I had hoped we would be able to talk in private…” Cressida admitted shyly, Libby nodded.

 

“Of course, please.”

 

“It just seems so, guarded, indoors. May we slip outside?”

 

“The nights pleasant I don’t see why not…” Libby smiled.

 

Both women found themselves shifting slowly through the lit house, and out the wide back doors and onto the patio. The moon was on full display tonight. Blinking its mysterious whiteness through the sky with the accompaniment of dozens of nets of stars strung across the dark sky. It was a hot midsummer’s night. A hot wind rustled over both the women, adding to them a serene burst of calm happiness. And the guarantee that it was still very much a raring and infrequent British summer.

 

Libby heard Cressida sigh, deeply.

 

“I’ve been so rotten to you…” she spoke in a low voice.

 

Libby was more than a bit taken aback.

 

“Oh...”

 

She spoke softly, sounding surprised. Of all the wild and unimaginable things she had heard come out of Cressida’s red lips, this was the most unimaginable her brain could fathom.

 

“I’m so rotten to you because, because you…have…everything.”

 

“Cressida…”

 

Libby started. Surprised had now been thrown out of the window and shocked was thoroughly in its place.

 

“You do. You have everything, and I had the nerve to think I did! My god, I thought because I have expensive dresses, I can drink gin and go to parties, and sleep with men because it’s fun, because it’s what women do. But, you don’t sleep or flirt with every man you come across, you don’t drink like a fish, and you always look lovely. And now you have Benedict, and I suffice by sleeping with men who I don’t even like, just to feel appreciated.”

 

Libby’s brain was working furiously at a rate of knots to try and get this information to sink in.

 

Looking over to Cressida, she saw the woman was deadly serious and honest in her words. Even in the half darkness and unrestricting honesty of starlight and moonlight, her pencilled brows were drawn together in partial pain and her eyes were wet with unshed tears that gleamed white in her dark brown eyes.

 

“Cressida. I assure you I don’t have everything, I. I’ve no career to speak of, and Yes I may have Ben now, but. I consider that an incredibly lucky feat in itself, and you shouldn’t speak so lowly of yourself, you’re beautiful, young, and I’m willing to bet if you married for love rather than for wealth. You’d find you would soon have your happiness.”

 

Libby spoke tenderly. Cressida let a lone tear slide down her cheek as they both absentmindedly walked over to the jetty that led out over the pond.

 

Cressida put a hand on her chest, as if to still and calm her beating heart.

 

“But the fact that I have been unforgivably awful to you still stands, I know I don’t warrant your clemency, but, would you find it in yourself to forgive me? I wouldn’t be able to stand it if we remained bitter about one another. I’d really adore to start over… as friends….”

 

Libby blinked, and smiled slowly, they were both reaching the end of the jetty now.

 

“I would very much like that.”

 

Cressida smiled, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.

 

“Thankyou.” She squeaked in a sob ridden voice.

 

Libby reached over and touched her soft wrist gently, as if in assurance.

 

“Ugh.” Cressida suddenly sighed, touching her hand to her forehead dramatically.

 

“What Am I doing? Enough of this silly weeping…” She smiled, raising her glass to Libby’s own.

 

“To the absolving of old hateful ways, and new friendships and great things to come.” She spoke.

 

Libby smiled and clinked their glasses together, retracting her arm and taking a long sip, drinking a long gulp of nearly half of what was in her glass. Letting the sweet fluid slide down her throat.

 

Her father had insisted on opening an aging bottle of Dom Perignon bought up from the wine cellar to celebrate her and Benedict’s engagement. It was fruity, sharp, crisp, sweet and

 

Bitter. Awfully bitter.

 

Libby winced and stopped drinking as her tongue came across something unrecognisable and sour in her drink. It was foul and she nearly spat the liquid from her mouth.

 

Her arm lowered the glass to her side as she felt a burning acidic sting thrash down the back of her throat.

 

She coughed, feeling most odd and clapping a hand over her mouth, her stomach was churning wildly and she thought she was going to be sick.

 

“ _Oh._ ”

 

Came a sly nasty voice from behind her as she had turned to clasp a hand to her mouth.

 

“….and there’s one more thing, _Elizabeth_ …”

 

Cressida spat maliciously from behind her, Libby couldn’t see her, but if it was possible she could hear the vile smirk in her voice and tone.

 

“Cressida.”

 

Libby gasped in a small hurried voice, a hand on her chest as her breathing became ragged and forced, her glass dropped to the jetty, smashing at her feet as she hunched over and clutched at her burning stomach.

 

“I can’t breathe….”

 

Libby exhaled, wheezing in the strain of standing up.

 

“What did you-“

 

She began, but Found herself poised close to the jetties edge as Cressida now had a vice like grip on Libby’s arm, her blood red nails biting into Libby’s skin. Whether or not her grip drew blood, she didn’t care. The woman placed her leering red lips lean close to Libby’s ear as she spoke.

 

“Such a tragedy, Libby. You taking an overdose of sleeping tablets and rat poison, and on the night of your engagement. Such a catastrophic loss in one so young and beautiful. Benedict will be positively heartbroken. But, rest assured, I’ll give him your best!”

 

She spat into Libby’s ear. Still smirking.

 

That was before she let go and Libby’s arm and let her tumble into the dark waters of the lake. Watching with a smile as she disappeared under the inky velvet waves.

 

Libby was oblivious, as she was unconscious by the time she had sunk under the water’s surface.

 

 

 


	17. Misfortune...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tragedy strikes, and more than one ne individual in the Jones's household finds themselves going against formality in quest of the truth.... Our Heroine appears to us in a different form this time....

 

 

 

 

Benedict, Leo and Mr Jones were each thoroughly enjoying a fine batch of 1911 Cigars out on the patio, talking about work, investments and stocks. But that was all before each of the three men heard a loud splash echo back across the garden to where they were stood by the house. Benedict’s brow pulled together, he had seen Libby and Cressida walk out near the lake at the end of the garden not long ago. But he couldn’t quell nor ignore the uneasy feeling the squirmed and settled low in his stomach.

 

“What the devil’s going on over there?” Mr Jones asked, exhaling a puff of smoke into the hot night air. The tip of his cigar glowing amber in the dark night.

 

“I’m not waiting to find out, with a woman of Cressida’s infantile repute…”

 

“….Or Libby’s admittedly terse spectrum of patience and tolerance…” Leo joked, smiling as he puffed out his own cigar.

 

Benedict’s brow creased and he left his cigar in the ashtray, letting his hands hang loosely by his sides as he walked, briskly across the lawn, the rolling feeling in his gut increasing as he got to the darkened jetty and saw Cressida there standing alone.

 

His body froze and his brain didn’t know what to do. He frowned at her for a long moment, before he saw the ripples and splashing in the water.

 

“I..She, Just. She fell…..” came the disturbed squeak from her rouged lips.

 

Her mouth gaped and she pointed to the water to where the movements were beginning to dissolve.

 

But by this point, Ben had already stripped off his jacket and tie, and dived under the black water’s surface. The cold rush was the first thing that hit him, enveloping him as he swan, bearing down on the stiff still clenching of his gut that was gripped in fear and rising panic. He spread his arms down and swam, searching deep for any sight of her, and he kicked harder and faster when he saw the billowing silk of her dress mushroom up above, the silky moss fabric floating up to him. He kicked harder, his lungs burning for air, rattling his chest walls for oxygen, but he didn’t give in to their pleas. He grabbed the dress and tugged, seeing the definite blurry pale white of her skin form under him. She wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t she moving?

 

His hands reached lower, and found her width between her hips and her waist. He grappled her in his grip, tugging her up and out with him. Tucking her frame into his own body, so her head lolled onto his shoulder, and the rest of her hung limply like a rag doll as he swam up and out. By the time he could see the silvery surface of the water again, he was sure if he didn’t get some air soon, he would explode. But as he gave one more frantic kick upwards, he broke the surface, and air gladly invaded his lungs. He breathed it deep for a second, before pulling Libby’s lax body along the pond with him, the depths getting shallower as he could feel the bank begin under his feet again. He probably didn’t realise on account of the cold and the shock, but he was breathing and panting and gasping, gruff grunts and panicked moans were worming their way from between his lips as he swam with her. And the rolling pressing and somewhat painfully tight feeling in his stomach didn’t go away. And it wasn’t easy to ignore either.

 

He realised through the water distorting his vision that lights were streaming across from the house like white floodlights, and he could see dark figures run out from the house towards him. He could make out Leo, splash into water towards him up to his knees, Ben had since folded Libby into his arms in a fireman’s carry, his arms crossed under her knees and her back, lifting her lithe frame towards the bank as he carried her out, the water just up to his thighs now as she strode out under the crushing oblivion and the weight of the inky water.

 

Ben had blinked enough water from his eyes, when mixed with a couple of burning tears that seared his vision to see Leo’s face cross in distinct panic. But all Ben knew to do was walk forwards, eventually the cold clinging feeling that stuck to his legs subsided, and he realised he had instead reached the grassy bank that dipped down into the pond, at which point his knees buckled and he lowered the limp form of his fiancées body onto the green lawn. Gently cradling her with his hands as he watched her just lay there, unmoving. The moss green dress clung to her, moulded to her body with water, and stuck to her lily white skin, in the same way her doused flame hued hair was plastered to her head. She looked as if she were sleeping peacefully, eyes and lips gently resting in comfort, as beads of water ran in rivulets off her skin.

 

His fingers gently reached out to unstick the soft wet strands of hair from her face, his face streaked with tears and pond water as his chest heaved with breath, panting for it, as he tried not to break down and weep right there. That was proceeding the seconds before his brain seemed to fire into life and action, and he pressed his head to her wet chest to check for a pulse. Which, thanks the heavens and stars and galaxies out beyond the universe, he did. It was faint, and very weak. But it was there, it was there beating away softly in her chest, and he thanked his lucky stars for that. He became aware that the light from the house was slowly carved away around him, he peered up through his own wet lashes and dripping head of curls to see Mrs Jones look down on them both with tears starting in her eyes, and one hand clasped over her mouth, Mr Jones behind her with a horrified expression taking centre stage on his features, Leo was beside him though on the grass, kneeling and looking at her and not entirely knowing how to act. He could see others too, presumably Eliza, Simpy or Parker, or all three of them, bolting out across the lawn to them all. Ben wiped a soaking shirt covered across his cheek, before he knelt over Libby again. He gently placed one hand over the other, just below her breastbone, and curled his fingers around his other hand, and began to pump downwards in a steady jarring motion on her ribcage, he continued to move his hands until her was sure his actions had some affect, and he leaned in to check her heartbeat again, it was stronger now, more resolute now. And this was when everyone around him seemed to kick into action. Libby’s mother staggered forwards and motioned to Leo to go and call the doctor. Which he did, eventually plying his body to his feet to cooperate, running away in the direction of the house in search of the phone. Ben then found a demure hand was placed on his sopping wet shoulder.

 

“Ben, I need you to help carry her inside...”

 

The only reaction Benedict was capable of in that moment was turning his head towards the older woman, calmed tears leaking down his face as his eyes shone with agony.

 

“I can’t lose her. I, I can’t.”

 

He spoke quickly and raggedly. Mrs Jones had to fight hard to ignore the tear that burned down her cheek because of his words.

 

“I know. And you won’t. But she needs to get inside, to get dry and warm. Could you carry her for me.”

 

Benedict knew that wasn’t a plea, or even a demand. It was a necessity.

 

He scooped his arms under her again. And slowly lifted himself to his feet, cradling her small wet weight in his arms as he forced his legs to cooperate with staggering forwards, trying in vain not to buckle. He swiftly crossed the lawn in long strides. He barely registered going through the house, climbing the stairs and getting her to her room. Where he led her gently down on the bed while many people fussed around him. He found a towel looped over his shoulders and he watched as the staff and Libby’s parents flapped and fussed drying her off. Gently, he wasn’t sure who by, he was encouraged to rest on a chair diagonally adjacent to her on the bed. He ignored the concerned glances he was getting from Eliza, Simpy, Parker, Leo and pretty much everyone else.

 

Hours, minutes, possibly even years later. After he heard distant voices echo around him as if they were a million miles away, but were in fact within distance of reaching out and touching him on the arm. Gently subsided, and he found Leo’s arms steering him away and out the room. But not before he realised that he was being led away and went stiff as a post. So even Leo couldn’t budge him. But without taking his eyes of Libby, he spoke.

 

“Leo, I can’t leave her. I have to…”

 

“Ben, you’ll make yourself sick watching her like this. Come on. The doctors here, we have to leave her for a minute or two.”

 

“I have to be with her. Leo. She’s everything to me.”

 

His voice wobbled, at the time Leo’s heart split in two in hearing his best friend admit such a thing.

 

“Ben, I promise you, she will be alright. Just come with me.”

 

Benedict didn’t argue further as he was led away, Leo’s hands on his shoulders all the while, whilst more tears spilled down his cheeks and he realised he was silently weeping.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Half an hour later, and Benedict found himself ensconced in the parlour downstairs. In a dim and sombre half-light that only partially lit up the room, bathing it half in dark and half in light. Benedict sat with his head in his hands, his elbows bent on his knees as he shut his eyes and blocked out the world around him. Libby’s smile, and laugh and moans replaying in his mind over and over. It was torture when all he wanted to do was go upstairs and see her. And check is she was indeed, as Leo and Mrs Jones had promised she would be, alright. Leo was sat in the room with him. Silently watching his aggrieved friend with cautious eyes.

 

They both became aware of a familiar figure gently cross the threshold of the doorframe, and walk slowly into the room. Leo lifted his head to regard the figure, and Ben only regarded them as they spoke, breaking the heavy mournful silence.

 

“She’s going to be fine.”

 

Ben lifted his head and regarded Mrs Jones with a tone of gratefulness and thanks in his eyes.

 

“What happened to her?” Ben asked in a tiny voice.

 

“The doctor suspects she was drugged. A lethal mix of sleeping tablets and something else was his guess….”

 

“She didn’t need sleeping tablets, why would she take them?”

 

Leo asked, as Ben too was wracking his brains to come to the same conclusion.

 

“I don’t know. But the Doctor said she exhibited all the usual signs of an overdose of sleeping pills, which, luckily will wear off in 6 or so hours…” Mrs Jones explained.

 

“She doesn’t even own any sleeping tablets. None in her room. How would she get hold of them…” Ben asked aloud.

 

“There’s something else…” Mrs Jones continued. Her voice reaching a grave tone.

 

“…She has fingernail marks, on her upper left arm.”

 

Ben’s body stiffened.

 

“Marks…” he questioned urgently.

 

Mrs Jones flicked her eyes to Benedict, who looked absolutely murderous now.

 

“Benedict-“

 

“You know who was stood on the jetty when I dived in to get her.” Ben growled, voice growing loud.

 

“Benedict, we can’t go accusing Cressida of such grand actions…” Mrs Jones tried to reason.

 

They were interrupted by a polite knock to the open door, and the clearing of a posh gravelly voice announcing their presence.

 

They all turned to see Parker taking up the space in the doorway as he stood formally filling out the frame. A mask of stony indifference was on his face, but he looked uncomfortable.

 

“Ma’am. I believe, on this one occasion, I must speak the truth as Libby’s very life depends on this one secret that I can conceal no longer.”

 

“What is it Parker?” Leo spoke softly but pressingly.

 

“Miss Quinn gave me funds and orders to send Eliza to town to fetch the strongest dose of sleeping tablets…”

 

His words were rudely interrupted as Benedict stormed out of the room, nearly dislodging Parker from his feet as he went. His blood had reached boiling point.

 

 

 

 


	18. Aggravation, Anger and Antagonism...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the end we've all been clamouring for finally comes, Our Hero is bolstered by other more, unexpected, figures rise to the occasion to help him save the day.... After all, what is a Hero without his sidekicks? (and defeating his arch nemesis)

 

Cressida wasn’t aware of what angered tempers were stalking on swift feet to her room before she heard and felt the door burst open and slam loudly against the wall as Benedict entered. Luckily she was simply stood by the window puffing a cigarette into the hot night air, the only light emitting throughout the slightly darkened exterior of the large room, was the antique lamp by her bedside that wasn’t enough to bathe the entire room with light.

 

She jumped when the wooden door clashed heavily with the wall, reverberating back as an angry, very tall male figure crossed the threshold and pursued across the carpets, coming to a standstill closer to her than he would usually dare. A faultless indication that anger was gripping his senses very roughly, overtaking the reasonable and sensible precautions his mind and body would usually take into consideration. This side of Benedict was different, she thought he was mightily angry the other day, he was positively dripping venomous hatred now. Even the air around him seemed tight and tense, clouded with toxic levels of detestation. Cressida admitted in that moment in a moment of shrinking panic, that she suddenly felt very afraid of him indeed.

 

“You have approximately three seconds to start explaining yourself before you force me into actions no gentleman should ever have to think of….”

 

Cressida wouldn’t even describe his voice as a growl, the word seemed too inadequately incongruous. Even the word ‘roared’ was completely unbefitting to that of his tone. It was a pitch she knew to describe in no other way than a whisper, a mere murmur. But it was a whisper that was sizzling and crackling like the burning fuse on a dynamite. It was proceeding a beyond angered booming and thunderous yell that was sure to leap and take hold of his vocal chords is she aggravated him any further.

 

She also couldn’t name a time when she had seen someone look so noxious either. His eyes she could akin to hot ice. So cold in their mercilessly angered gaze, and they were boring so intently at her, she was afraid rather than exhilarated, feeling like they were sure to burn holes into her within the way which he was glowering at her. They say the eyes are windows to the soul, and if this was indeed the case, then Benedict’s soul was crumbling and shaking with wrath. Tense, taut and thundering levels of furious ire. As he was stood faintly close to her, she could see more clearly the appalled and straight line of his mouth, set in an unmoving concrete and placid line that would tolerate absolutely no nonsense from her. She could sense that. From the look in his eyes, the way he was holding himself. And the way he was stood, one word in the wrong direction and his last few fragments of his once courteous façade would snap, and ricochet into violently triggered actions.

 

She was unable, in that brief moment, of locating her voice. She blinked her lashes a few times, trying to summon a mask of surprised indifference to her facial features. Letting more smoke drift out from between her lips and ghost away on the hot evening’s breeze, she steeled her small frame in preparation to answer his interrogations.

 

“Whatever do you mean, Benedict?” She asked in a timid voice that she was trying to push into the tone of persuasiveness.

 

Something seemed to snap inside him. As if but a handful of words from her had the ability to make the last few remaining fibres of patience he had in him twist and break. Having been stretched so thin over his hold on his temper. But not now. Those few remaining scraps of dignity and self-preservation were there no longer to protect her from his onslaught of enrage that was sure to follow suit and erupt at any moment.

 

She watched as his chest swelled with a deep breath, and his eyes closed to try and cleanse himself of her contaminated personality. And also to try and quell and calm his shaking nerves that were throbbing with violent urges.

 

“Don’t, _just don’t_. Don’t you even dare to try and stammer your pathetic way out of this. All I know is that my future wife is upstairs, unconscious and was three feet away from deaths door tonight after she was nearly purposefully drowned. And it came to me as no surprise that the last person who she spent her last few conscious moments with was you. And now, she’s not waking up, and I demand an explanation from _you_ Cressida, whether I have to _force_ it out of you or not….” He snarled in a hot impatiently terse voice.

 

“I told you…” she breezed easily from shaky lips that were exhaling smoke in steady nervousness “She fell in.”

 

Benedict’s jaw clenched, his teeth aching with the action.

 

“She had fingernail grips cut into her arm.” He spoke quietly, now trying his hardest not to quiver in anger.

 

“I tried to grab her when she fell. I tried to help her.” She insisted. Extinguishing her cigarette, flicking the burning tip out of the window. Turning to break eye contact with him.

 

What she heard next made her spine wrack, and her skin crawl. Benedict laughed. But it wasn’t a pleased laugh. It was a laugh that was betraying the faltering strength of the lid he was barely managing to keep on his volcanic temper. It was an entirely unpleasant sound that horrified her ears, when usually his rumbling and deep laughter sent pleasurable thrashes down her body, this sent shockwaves of cold terror through her. This laugh was taunting and cruel, and was nothing short of malicious.

 

“Help her.”

 

He wheezed, smiling dangerously through his teeth, eyes set in voltage watts of anger.

 

“I wouldn’t call drugging her with enough sleeping tablets to paralyse a horse, helpful. Would you?” he sneered, leering close to her so he could practically spit the words into her ear with hot defiling breath.

 

“What are you talking about?” she faltered. Her voice growing weak and scared.

 

What Cressida wasn’t expecting next was for Benedict to steel his anger, and in one swift jab, plough his fist into the wall next to the window where they stood. She watched terrified, as he didn’t even let out a yelp of pain, yet when she saw that the plaster had crumbled away under his knuckles, leaving a large dent in the wall, and that his hand was now dripping blood down his knuckles and elegant long fingers. Yet, still, he didn’t even flinch or make any noise of pain.

 

He bowed his head, and his back was bent rigidly as he leaned over to pull air into his lungs as red mist was beginning to descend over his eyes.

 

In between his ragged breaths and the terrified pounding of her own heart, she vaguely and barely heard the one tiny and silent little word struggled out from between his lips.

 

“Why?” he breathed. Closing his eyes.

 

“Because she didn’t deserve you.”

 

Benedict’s eyes opened.

 

“And you do?”

 

He spat horribly as tears clawed their way into Cressida’s awful brown eyes. But these tears weren’t for show, like many other times when she had tried to get what she wanted from the opposite sex in a fake state of hysteria, no, these were real.

 

“I think you’re wonderful Benedict. So completely wonderful. I only accepted the invitation to this appalling house because I was sure you would be here. I even tried flirting unashamedly with Leo to get your attention. I even cozied up to Frederick in the hopes to get him and Libby paired off so I could have a crack at you myself. But that backfired. I drove you into her arms and I hate her for it, because she gets to marry you, and she gets your money…”

 

Benedict felt sick hearing her words spout from her lips.

 

“That’s all this has ever been about, isn’t it? Money? Just putting wealth to your name?” Benedict asked.

 

“No. I wanted you so much, I.”

 

She stopped and Benedict inhaled and shook his head.

 

“I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last woman on earth, and even if my life depended on it I still wouldn’t. Even of the entirety of my fortune rested on wedding you. I would rather live a poor, penniless and miserable life than marry you. You’re cruel, vindictive. You insult everyone you meet, unless they are men, in which case, you sleep with them. You look down on everyone who isn’t like you. And you’re so devoid of real friends or love in your own life, which means that you latch onto vulnerable people with money just to sate that gaping hole in your life where responsibility and morals should be. You’re not looking for companionship, Cressida, you’re looking for a trust fund and a man you can ignore. So don’t for one second try to justify your awful toxic behaviour by stating that nothing but loving intentions were behind them.”

 

Benedict watched as her face fell, and he knew he had severed every nerve of truth.

 

“You thought you deserved me.” He added. Seeing her lips purse as she inspected the carpet.

 

“If it makes any difference, with you, there was a trust fund and a passably interesting person along with it.” She admitted.

 

“Now that fits the bill far better than your profession of deep secret lust for me…” He growled.

 

For once in her shameful life, she stayed silent.

 

“The games over Cressida. And I sincerely hope we don’t meet again anytime soon.” He finished, making a move to walk away.

 

“What? No threat of phoning the police over me?” she teased as he left.

 

Benedict knew he wasn’t defeated. He didn’t feel defeated. He had ousted her, he just didn’t have the willpower to give a damn about the toxic bitch any more. Cressida hated being ignored as a centre of attention seeking drama queen, so that’s exactly what Benedict was planning to do. Just ignore her and walk away before anyone else got hurt. Besides, he wasn’t the host, he didn’t have the power to tell her to leave. Despite all the hurt she had caused, he just wanted to walk away from her and prayed never to land eyes on her again. When he turned to walk out of her room, he stopped, seeing a trio of people standing there in front of him.

 

Leo, Mrs Jones, and Mr Jones stood lining the hallway and the door to her bedroom.

 

He paused, standing stiffly, examining their faces.

 

“I would say I’m disappointed in your lack of fighting spirit, Benedict. But, truth be told, I think I’ll just attribute your retreat to the fact your stamina is wearing thin.”

 

Mrs Jones spoke seriously, an edge to her voice that Benedict never wanted to be on the receiving end of.

 

She then spoke again, and the words were ones that delighted everyone’s ears and caused a pang of relief to wash over all four people in Cressida’s bedroom.

 

“Cressida, I want you and all of your belongings out of this house by the morning.”

 

Cressida gaped.

 

“For what reason?” she gaped incredulously, unbelieving of the order she was being issued.

 

Benedict gave a silent look to Mrs Jones, who now wholeheartedly understood the reason for why Benedict’s stamina had been worn through.

 

“For the reason of poisoning, and very nearly killing my daughter.”

 

Mr Jones boomed nastily, stepping forwards. Limping lightly on his cane, but looking full of feisty fighting spirit.

 

“My uncle will be aggrieved to hear of your treating me so carelessly, Chester, considering how kind my parents were to you all those years of being in your friendship...”

 

She began, starting to appear flustered and angered, like a cornered hen clucking and fussing in an ugly manner.

 

“I’m seriously considering the fact that barring you from this house would do less reputable damage than you have done to your parent’s once good name.”

 

He snapped. Seeing the words shut her up. And Benedict, fight it as he may, couldn’t help the smile that slid across his face seeing her deposed from her supposed high station she imposed on herself all these years. There was no other word for it, it was utterly delicious. And he, and everyone else around him was lapping up the wonderful sight of her being unceremoniously turned out on her ass. Leo was considering running for Libby’s camera to capture the expression on Cressida’s face.

 

“You haven’t got any evidence to prove me guilty of what happened.”

 

She warned, smiling smugly until she heard Leo speak. At which point her smile fell off her face.

 

“Well, we have the fingernail marks on Libby’s arms that were put there by considerable force, the fact that we know it was you who requested Sleeping pills from our Butler, the obvious hateful aversion and all around revulsion you had to my sister, and, what else…. Ah, yes. A witness statement willing to testify to the police that you were seen pushing Libby into the lake to drown her in a deliberate attempt of murder.”

 

“Who-“

 

Cressida’s words died in her mouth as she saw the figure of Parker, the Butler lurking at the back of the crowd that had gathered around her door, and he was wearing a rare and politely undisguised smile.

“I beg your pardon Miss Quinn, but precedence for the mortality of my employers does take precedence over the petty threat of your jealousy.”

 

Cressida’s mouth gaped, she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her face grew heated and thoroughly embarrassed.

 

Before she could even open her mouth again and screech out more unintelligible lies. She saw the small frame of the housemaid, Eliza, cross into the room and dump her rumpled black gown on the floor in front of her. The maids face was sour and grumpy, but she was about to thoroughly enjoy taking the woman down a peg – or six.

 

“For all them sneaking and plotting brains in your head, miss, you conveniently forgot that the jetty is opposite the kitchen windows, I saw you push her in. So if you’d kindly take yourself and your rotten mouth back to London, we’d all be much obliged.” She turned on her heel and started to march out the room.

 

“Oh, and I didn’t press your soddin’ dress. Learn how to do that yourself you lyin' bitch. And if you ever find yourself around hackney way and our paths meet, I’ll tear your awful blonde hair out, and put your ‘ead though a wall!”

 

She drawled in a heavy cockney twang, slapping a high five on Leo’s outstretched palm as she walked out onto the landing. Mr and Mrs Jones followed suit. waling from the room and across the landing

 

“You can’t just kick me out like this!” Cressida yelled, seeing no one turn to look at her as she squawked.

 

Except for Benedict, he turned and smiled.

 

“Well. Miss Quinn, your hostess has spoken, and if you have but one sensible bone in your body, you will pack your belongings and get out of this house, out of this room, and out of my sight if you know what’s best for you. Please don’t stay in touch.”

 

Benedict chirped happily, closing the door behind him.

 

“Good riddance! I didn’t want to stay for one more night at this awful old house anyway!!”

 

She yelled through the closed door, tripping over her rumpled black dress as she walked across the room.

 

One sentence from Leo across the landing through her closed door, caused her to growl and throw open her suitcase, and begin shoving her clothes in.

 

“Take that motor mouth back to London you abominable tart!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god, that was fun to write.... hope you guys enjoyed the blonde twit being ousted as much as I did.... ;)


	19. The Ending of the Agony...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Hero weighs up the cost of life without his Heroine, But as they say, the things we love and lose have a way of coming back to us in the end....

 

The high flying elation that was caused by Cressida’s _oh-so_ wonderful expulsion from the Jones’s house was short lived, and rapidly dissipated in Benedict’s gut as he got back to Libby’s room, and saw the sight of her. It was an awful pressing reminder deep into the pit of his heart of just exactly how far Cressida would go to hurt the people she disliked. Benedict’s knees seemed to crumble at the sight of his usually, full of vibrance, life and laughter fiancée, looking pale and rested, but worryingly so, not setting his mind at ease one jilt as she lay dried and redressed, tucked under the covers of her bed. His heart hurt when he recalled that was the same spot where they had been romantically conjoined and entwined the night before. But how different things seemed now.

 

He crossed the darkened, moon highlighted room, eyes not tearing off her sleeping figure as he did, lowering his long limbs onto the armchair that he shuffled closer to her bed, so he could easily reach over and take her small, slightly cool, pale hand. Which was what he did. He slid his fingers through her own slim and limp digits. Her hands were cool and soft to his touch, lovingly, he noted how her fingertips were slightly calloused on her right hand – which he held- from the many occasions she had cradled a pencil, or a paintbrush between her talented fingers. Even the soothingly soft pads of her fingertips were hardened from where she would toy with books pages as she ravished their contents, or either from her days spent cradling a sketchbook in her hands as she expertly stroked a masterpiece in graphite onto its pages. His thumb couldn’t help it, and wandered unhindered over the delicately strong build of her knuckles, sliding from her middle finger to the dexterous finger that followed it. He couldn’t wait one more week to see a beautifully carved, ornate and ridiculously expensive ring adorning the exact finger on her opposite hand. He would want to lavish her rotten and spoil her with a ring that was worth thousands, but if he knew her at all, she would drag him to the window of some vintage jewellery shop, and select the most mysteriously beautiful ring in the window, stating she’d much rather her engagement ring have some morbid backstory, she would wonder aloud how it probably belonged to some spindly old widow, who got the ring from her husband. Noting with merriment she hoped that it was a story in manner of Mrs Havisham from a musty old, verbose and garrulous Dickens novel.

 

He massaged her smooth palms, encompassing her silky smooth grasp with his own calloused and worn hand, made rough by years of fondling stacks of paperwork and the thick pages of leather bound books. His own skin was also marred with the many slashes of old paper cuts, although he had travelled around Italy – for the fifth time- recently, his skin bore no signs of being sun kissed. Instead he was his usual shade of pale, tall and interesting. But what he loved about Libby, was that, alike him, her hands too showed the signs of years of pouring love over books, handling them, caressing them and caring for them like they were a prized and cherished lover. Carefully, he then set her hand back down atop the covers that were folded and tucked around her small body. Pressing his hands to her skin, he found she was slightly cooled than when he first touched her. His eyes darted around the room, seeing the throw strewn carelessly on her chaise, as it was summer, she was sleeping now with thinner sheets in the hot and muggy country air that sat around and didn’t shift, even though it chilled at night, the traces of lethargic mugginess still remained. He walked over and gathered the embroidered thick rug in his hands, returning and placing it over her shoulders, tugging up the covers she had around her already.

 

He remembered in a pinching side note that gripped his whole being, how they had both woken up naked next to each other just this morning, how the covers had fallen away from her wonderfully pale, and bare back, having shifted in the night. He sighed, a small and deep sound that conveyed only a fraction of the unease he would feel until she woke up – if she ever would. Sudden subdued hysteria clawed at his insides then. What if he did lose her? There was every possibility he could, and even the mere threat of it made tears leap, in spearing haste, to his eyes.

 

He couldn’t remember much of his life before Libby, and that was probably because before he met her, there wasn’t much worth remembering. And that’s not to say he was miserable before he met her, he had wonderful and kind parents who cared for him and loved him deeply, of course he had a few golden and nostalgic memories of being a child, but then he met her, and everything just seemed infinitely better with her in his life. She taught him things without him even realising it. She taught him to laugh, whether at his own expense, or at silly things like he was a child again. He remembered vividly one afternoon, when they were having a strictly formal tea at Claridges with their respective families, before the loosened morals of the 20’s came swooping in on a drunken and sombre haze, how Edwardian children were expected to be seen and not heard. But as two tables away when a waiter suddenly went careening over a trolley of cream cakes and afternoon tea, and then, when another waiter became a casualty of a particularly lethal shoe bun pastry on the floor, he too slipped and joined the messy tangle of broken crockery and cream puffs all over the floor. He remembered how his parents had looked on, mortified by the spectacle, Benedict, expecting Libby to be the same, embarrassed and shocked, turned to her, and saw she was fighting sniggers behind her napkin instead. Her small 17 year old body shaking with mirth as she fought not to laugh nay harder, but he could tell she was, her blue eyes were gleaming with unshed tears, and sparkling with mirth over her napkin at him. Her overjoyed smile creasing her cheeks and tinting them red. He then found he was biting back smiles, and heavy guffaws of laughter too.

 

And every good memory that he cherished, he seemed to share with her. Whether it be from last night’s passionate and mind blowing encounter in her bedroom, or several months ago when she told him a joke that he laughed and laughed at until tears slid down his cheeks. His head was suddenly awash and alive, buzzing with all the memories he had of her stored away in his brain. Once when they went to Brighton to see an eccentric old Aunt of her and Leo’s. They had all walked along the seafront eating ice creams and for all the world, feeling like three kids again. He even remembered the trivial and seemingly unimportant evenings when he was invited to Dinner at the Jones’s townhouse in London, how a simple, fairly unexciting evening of food and drink and pleasant chatter, could be turned into such a riotous affair with her, as Leo – being the always mischievous man who hadn’t grown out of adolescence – was catapulting peas across the table at Libby with his spoon, all to annoy his kid sister. (this coming from a grown man of 25) so much so that his immature conduct caused Mrs Jones to nearly choke on her Chicken croustade, and so earned her a stiff whack on the back from her husband. And, of course, Libby wouldn’t be herself if she didn’t attempt firing something back at him, the olives from her martini narrowly missing his ear as they had desert. Mrs Jones nearly chocked again on her crème of alexander pudding, luckily, swerving to the side to avoid the whacking assault on her back from her husband, should he feel the need arise. And it was nights just like that Benedict would remember, Libby and her family so full of colour and mischief, daring and bold, yet they all still loved each other despite the respective flinging of peas and olives across the dinner table at one another. And god help him, he had always, he suspected, been thoroughly in love with her. Simply for the reason, that she was many other things most women weren’t. She was kind, decent – by way of dress and behaviour, that was when her stubborn tongue didn’t get in the way – Intelligent, she had a head and a half full of brains, but didn’t use them to rise above other people, she kept an open mind, and only fought someone on their points if she thought she was being talked down too or patronised. She was unfailingly honest, but not in a cutthroat way. She was demure, kind hearted, funny. Dangerously witty, and she was everything, in many ways, that Benedict wasn’t. And if he was, he didn’t detect the traits within himself. That was why he couldn’t fathom losing her, every aspect of goodness, laughter and happiness, he could all link back and attribute to her. All those reasons, and god knows how many millions more, were the reasons he was praying and pleading silently in his head for her to be alright.

 

“I couldn’t ever imagine having to live without you Libby…”

 

He whispered, alone, all to her in the half dark of her silvery, moonlit bathed room. Watching her resting figure.

 

“I think nature patterned you to be all the good, beautiful and sweet things rolled up into one. And that’s what you are to me. You are my everything good, Elizabeth Jones, so please, I beg you, from the very bottom of my heart, please don’t ever make me have to _not imagine_ living without you.”

 

He plucked her hand to his lips, and pressed a tiny pleading kiss onto her hand.

 

He returned her arm to where it belonged by her side on the bed, folding it under the covers he had placed there so she wouldn’t get any colder during the night. He sighed a small and unhappy sound once more, his hand carting over the silk of her cheek, before slipping away as he positioned himself so he was more comfortable in the upholstered armchair. Sliding his back down and tilting his head to peer over, watching Libby’s chest rise and fall rhythmically under the blankets. And he did this in lazy warming contentment until he felt his lids grow heavy and closed. Benedict was gently lulled into an uneasy yet full on slumber.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m tellin’ you, he weren’t in his room. I checked and the bed sheets was unmussed, I don’t know where else he would be… Why are we goin’ to Libby’s room anyway, the Doctor said she’d be asleep for hours yet…”

 

Eliza hushed in a whisper to Mr Jones as they walked silently side by side through Libby’s darkened lounge. Padding over the soft carpets not even making a whisper of a noise.

 

“Fortunately, I know exactly where he’ll be, there’s no need to fret Eliza. If I know him but at all…”

 

Mr Jones soothed quietly as they turned her bedroom doorframe, the sight causing Eliza to rethink the words that were about to leap from her mouth.

 

“But he-“

 

Her words died a swift death on her lips as they both saw the very familiar figure of Benedict hunched over in an armchair, sleeping heavily in a most uncomfortable looking position, his head lolled to one side on the wingback chair, supporting his head and neck in a most excruciating angle.

 

“I’ll collect my five bob wager from you in the morning...” Mr Jones chuckled softly. Eliza made a scrunched up face that easily gave away her displeasure. Her jaw locked in stiffness and her eyes became heavy with traces of annoyance.

 

“I need to stop makin’ bets with you, Sir, I always find myself loosin’…” she uttered miserably. She slumped away crossing back over and out of the room

 

Mr Jones turned his mirth soaked silver eyes back to Benedict’s sleeping figure, he crossed the threshold of the doorway in silence, not making a rustle with his clothes, or even with his cane. He saw Benedict move in his sleep as he stirred momentarily.

 

“I had a superstition we’d be able to find you here as your bed was empty my dear boy…”

 

Those eloquent words that belonged only to one voice jolted Benedict out of his sleep, and he sat bolt upright, startled awake as he looked at the tall framed figure of a man that was filling out the doorway. His distressed demeanour changed when he found himself looking upon the handsome silvery eyes and weathered old smile that was crinkling in warmth back at him.

 

“Sir-“

 

Benedict jumped, stretching himself to a more upright and less slouched position, sitting up and stretching the brittle and aching bones and muscle in his neck as he did, paining him so due to the way he slept in the awkward position. He blinked his eyes awake so he could focus on his respective father in law across the room.

 

“No need for the formalities here, as you are to be my future son in law, I should think we could drop the silly civilities. They are quite unnecessary to family after all…”

 

Benedict found himself smiling lightly. A great deal of Libby’s own personality could easily be sourced from her fathers.

 

“You know, I think I know with some certainty what the answer to his statement will be, but, nonetheless, I will reiterate it anyway, There is a mightily comfortable bed just downstairs, certainly much comfier than straining your neck and back in that chair...”

 

“A perfectly sound analysis, and the bed is quite the most comfortable I’ve ever slept in, Chester, but you and I both know I won’t leave her side quite so easily.”

 

“Thank you for the flattery of our mattresses.”

 

Chester spoke in good humour. His wizened grey eyes slinking over to his daughter, watching her as she silently slept. Suddenly, wisps of anger gripped the older man’s heart on seeing his daughter in such a state, and knowing there was a malicious and greedy cause behind it.

 

“The one thing that sickens and amazes me about this age we live in, is how the young seem to have so carelessly thrown their morals out of the window. So much so that this is the end result of a trollop seeking a fortune.” Chester drawled, even from across the room, Benedict could see the older man shaking with subdued anger.

 

“I always knew Cressida had a mean streak and a certain intensity that ran along the side of worrying, but I never guessed she would be capable of doing a thing such as this.” Benedict admitted.

 

Chester looked over to Benedict, charmed by the man’s prevailing spirit of faith in humanity.

 

“I applaud your hope, Benedict. It’s quite a rare thing to be found in today’s society, especially with the way people act nowadays. I wouldn’t give them an inch of my faith, but you, seem to have an interminable spectrum of reliance in other people, and I must say. I find that a most admirable quality in a man.”

 

Benedict’s chest swelled with pride, in the realisation that he was pleasing others without the slightest inclination of having to emphasise it.

 

“Thank you. I’m afraid my father doesn’t hold quite the same view as you, however, I’m often scolded by my father for that very quality, told I ‘trust too easily’ and that can cost us money and efficiency.”

 

“Well. I have known your father since we were in University, and I would consider him one of my closest friends, but, I do disagree with him on that point.” Chester clarified.

 

Both men were enclosed in silence for a moment or two, both busy peering at Libby under the covers.

 

“So. My son tells me that you offered Libby a job working with you and your father at the publishing house…” Chester interjected after a moment of comfortable silence.

 

Ben smiled, Leo gossiped more than any woman he knew.

 

“I did. On the upstanding position that I wouldn’t interpose myself upon her occupation, I stated she could solicit after the station herself, and that her standing as my wife would bear no importance to her position at work.”

 

Ben finished, hearing Chester chuckle.

 

“You really know our girl…” he congratulated.

 

“She would hate feeling that she was simply being handed a title, she would far rather work hard to earn it, and felt she belonged.”

 

“… Far happier in the security that she was being hired for her talents and not for her husband’s importance.” Chester finished.

 

“Well. I must say, you make every other suitor she’s ever had pale in comparison, Benedict. I can’t tell you how comforting that is, and how happy it makes me. Perhaps one day when you father your own children, you’ll understand how I feel now.”

 

“Of that I’ve no doubt.” Ben supplied with a smile.

 

He saw Chester’s smile crease like the many well-travelled lines on a map, glinting with mirth back at him from behind the molten discs of silver that were his eyes.

 

“Well. I shall take my leave of you now. I’ll leave you to your uncomfortable looking state of sleep now. See you in the morning.” Chester chuckled, moving the limp out of the room on his cane.

 

Benedict smiled after the retreating man.

 

“Thank you, Chester. Good night…”

 

Benedict watched as he disappeared. Turning back to look at Libby, exhaustion weighing down his body and mind, before sleep tugged him reluctantly away again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She became aware of the very heavy sensation erupting at the back of her head, her eyes pinpricking in slight shards of pain before the fluttered open to her dark room. It was half bathed in the disappearing slivers of moonlight, and the retracting shade of night out her window that told her dawn was less than a few hours away.

 

She felt like a true groggy deadweight, her limbs feeling like they weighed a tonne each, and her insides feeling black and blue with exhaustion. The last thing she remembered was drinking something very bitter, and then she fell backwards and it was suddenly cold and dark. She couldn’t fathom what had happened since, but her eyes darted to the side of her bed as she heard soft heavy breaths echo across to her. Her heart warmed when she saw him, and she smiled lazily.

 

Benedict. Her Benedict. The kind hearted man who she would wed in less than a few weeks, and spend the rest of her life loving, and holding. And that sounded like utter bliss to her, her stomach warmed at the mere thought of just being by his side as a doting wife. And she knew he would never dream of imposing that title on her, but, she didn’t care. She loved him, and she was going to marry him. Self-deprecating title be damned.

 

She shuffled slowly to sit up, seeing his arm thrown across the covers, as if he was reaching out to her, but paused halfway and collapsed in a dead sleep. She moaned as she moved, moving sore muscles that would rather stay undisturbed and rested. She slowly reached over and pressed her hand to his upturned wrist, feeling his skin was warmer than hers, despite all the layers she was tucked under.

 

His eyes stirred under his lids, rolling around before they blinked open and focused on her, to which she smiled at him.

 

“Benedict…” she whispered.

 

Before she could even draw breath, or finish her sentence, she found she was thrown back to her pillows by the gentle weight of his body as he moved the throw himself partially on top of her, bearing in mind so as not to crush and hurt her, his head went straight to the crook oh her neck, and she could feel the numerous kisses he placed onto her skin, aswell as a couple of hot teas that dropped onto her skin, and rolled away down her collarbone, being lapped up and kissed away by this perfect man. She threw her arms around him, and she heard him moan in relief as she touched him, his head resting on hers as if the contact would assure him that she was really here.

 

He pulled away and cupped her face in his large hands. Eyes scanning over every inch of her smiling face again. Examining it lovingly as if he hadn’t seen her for fifty years or more.

She curled her hand around his right wrist just in time before his lips melted to hers again, she smiled against him as he kissed her with such vigour, she thought she would faint right there in his arms, feeling fuzzy, weightless and light headed. She moulded into him, feeling once again the sheer loving power that his kiss could cause.

 

He broke away, inhaling breath against her cheek, clearly not wanting to stop touching or keeping contact with her, lest she fade away.

 

“My god, I love you so much. Don’t make me go through that again. I couldn’t take it again, Libby.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“You don’t have to be sorry. You just have to marry me, marry me and make me the happiest man alive, will you do that for me?” he begged, his words tripping over his lips faster than his brain could make him say them.

 

“Yes..” she cried happily, as his lips melted to her again, kissing her senseless and speechless. Which, knowing Libby, was a rare and unimaginable feat indeed.

 

He was the first to pull away again, so that he didn’t starve her completely of oxygen. Libby was left stunned by the sheer force of love she found glimmering across his pupils.

 

“Benedict, as much as I want to kiss you through til dawn, I’m still so tired…” she ushered groggily, still not ceasing her smile.

 

He pulled the covers back up over her, smoothing a hand down her cheek as he smiled back at her.

 

“Then sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up. I‘m not moving.” He assured her firmly but lovingly.

 

“Come here you….”

 

She ushered sweetly, placing one last fleeting kiss across his lips as they both sank to the mattress, Benedict curling up the Libby’s side on the very comfortable covers, sliding his body close to her side, arms going across her stomach, lips plucking gentle love onto her shoulder as they both fell into the deep pit of the best night’s sleep the both of them had ever had. Out of the window, the moon and stars winked with the racy promise of a wonderful day following the agonising night.

 

 


End file.
